THE 

YOUNGER 
SET 


ROBERT  W.CHAMBERS 


The  YOUNGER  SET 


WORKS  OF  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


THE  YOUNGER  SET 

THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE 

THE  TREE  OF  HEAVEN 

THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

THE  RECKONING 

IOLE 

The  Conspirators 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Haunts  of  Men 
Outsiders 

A  Young  Man  in  a  Hurry 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
In  Search  of  the  Un 
known 
In  the  Quarter 


Cardigan 

The  Maid-at-Arms 

Lorraine 

Maids  of  Paradise 

Ashes  of  Empire 

The  Red  Republic 

The  King  in  Yellow 

A  Maker  of  Moons 

A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes 


FOR  CHILDREN 

Garden-Land  Mountain-Land 

Forest-Land  Orchard-Land 

River-Land  Outdoorland 


"Gave  into  his  keeping  soul  and  body." 

[Page  513] 


The 

YOUNGER  SET 


BY 


ROBERT   W.    CHAMBERS 

AUTHOR  Or 

"THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

G.    C.    WILMSHURST 


D.    APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


Published  August^  J9Q7 


TO 
MY     MOTHER 


1SS29 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — His  OWN  PEOPLE 1 

IE.— A  DREAM  ENDS 43 

III.— UNDER  THE  ASHES 84 

IV.— MID-LENT 119 

V. — AFTERGLOW 161 

VI. — THE  UNEXPECTED 194 

VII. — ERRANDS  AND  LETTERS 242 

VIII. — SILVERSIDE 280 

IX.— A  NOVICE 324 

X.— LEX  NON  SCRIPTA 384 

XL— His  OWN  WAY 426 

XIL— HER  WAY 460 

ARS  AMORIS  .  503 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"Gave  into  bis  keeping  soul  and  body"         .      Frontispiece 

'  'There  is  no  reason, 'she  said,  'why  you  should  not  call 

this  house  home'  ' 20 

"  'Two  pillows,'  said  Drina  sweetly" 130 

"  *I  don't  know  why  I  came'" 154 

"Turning,  looked  straight  at  Selwyn" 240 

"Eileen  watched  the  performance  with  growing 

interest" 288 

"Gerald  beside  her,  and  Neergard  on  the  other  side"        .  368 

"With  the  acrid  smell  of  smoke  choking  her"      .        .        .  500 


THE  YOUNGER  SET 


CHAPTER    I 

HIS    OWN    PEOPLE 

"  You  never  met  Selwyn,  did  you?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Never  heard  anything  definite  about  his  trouble  ?  " 
insisted  Gerard. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir !  "  replied  young  Erroll,  "  I've  heard 
a  good  deal  about  it.  Everybody  has,  you  know." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  retorted  Austin  Gerard  ir 
ritably,  "  what  '  everybody  '  has  heard,  but  I  suppose 
it's  the  usual  garbled  version  made  up  of  distorted  fact 
and  malicious  gossip.  That's  why  I  sent  for  you.  Sit 
down." 

Gerald  Erroll  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  big, 
polished  table  in  Austin's  private  office,  one  leg  swing 
ing,  an  unlighted  cigarette  between  his  lips. 

Austin  Gerard,  his  late  guardian,  big,  florid,  with 
that  peculiar  blue  eye  which  seems  to  characterise  hasty 
temper,  stood  by  the  window,  tossing  up  and  catching 
the  glittering  gold  piece — souvenir  of  the  directors' 
meeting  which  he  had  just  left. 

"  What  has  happened,"  he  said,  "  is  this.  Captain 
Selwyn  is  back  in  town — sent  up  his  card  to  me,  but  they 
told  him  I  was  attending  a  directors'  meeting.  When 
the  meeting  was  over  I  found  his  card  and  a  message 

1 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


scribbled,  saying  he'd  recently  landed  and  was  going 
uptown  to  ^all  on  Nina-  She'll  keep  him  there,  of  course, 
until  I  get  honie,  so  I  shsll  ^ee  him  this  evening.  Now, 
before  you  mf>et;  hkn*  I  want  you  to  plainly  understand 
the  truth  about  this  unfortunate  affair ;  and  that's  why 
I  telephoned  your  gimlet-eyed  friend  Neergard  just 
now  to  let  you  come  around  here  for  half  an  hour." 

The  boy  nodded  and,  drawing  a  gold  matchbox  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  lighted  his  cigarette. 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  smoke  cigars  ?  "  growled 
Austin,  more  to  himself  than  to  Gerald ;  then,  pocketing 
the  gold  piece,  seated  himself  heavily  in  his  big  leather 
desk-chair. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "  Captain  Selwyn  is 
my  brother-in-law — which  wouldn't  make  an  atom  of 
difference  to  me  in  my  judgment  of  what  has  happened 
if  he  had  been  at  fault.  But  the  facts  of  the  case  are 
these."  He  held  up  an  impressive  forefinger  and  laid 
it  flat  across  the  large,  ruddy  palm  of  the  other  hand. 
"  First  of  all,  he  married  a  cat !  C-a-t,  cat.  Is  that 
clear,  Gerald?" 

"Yes,   sir." 

"  Good !  What  sort  of  a  dance  she  led  him  out  there 
in  Manila,  I've  heard.  Never  mind  that,  now.  What 
I  want  you  to  know  is  how  he  behaved — with  what  quiet 
dignity,  steady  patience,  and  sweet  temper  under  con 
stant  provocation  and  mortification,  he  conducted  him 
self.  Then  that  fellow  Ruthven  turned  up — and — Sel 
wyn  is  above  that  sort  of  suspicion.  Besides,  his  scouts 
took  the  field  within  a  week." 

He  dropped  a  heavy,  highly  coloured  fist  on  his  desk 
with  a  bang. 

"  After  that  hike,  Selwyn  came  back,  to  find  that 
Alixe  had  sailed  with  Jack  Ruthven.  And  what  did  he 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


do ;  take  legal  measures  to  free  himself,  as  you  or  I  or 
anybody  with  an  ounce  of  temper  in  'em  would  have 
done?  No;  he  didn't.  That  infernal  Selwyn  conscience 
began  to  get  busy,  making  him  believe  that  if  a  woman 
kicks  over  the  traces  it  must  be  because  of  some  occult 
shortcoming  on  his  part.  In  some  way  or  other  that 
man  persuaded  himself  of  his  responsibility  for  her  mis 
behaviour.  He  knew  what  it  meant  if  he  didn't  ask  the 
law  to  aid  him  to  get  rid  of  her ;  he  knew  perfectly  well 
that  his  silence  meant  acknowledgment  of  culpability ; 
that  he  couldn't  remain  in  the  service  under  such  sus 
picion. 

"  And  now,  Gerald,"  continued  Austin,  striking  his 
broad  palm  with  extended  forefinger  and  leaning  heavily 
forward,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  sort  of  a  man  Philip  Sel 
wyn  is.  He  permitted  Alixe  to  sue  him  for  absolute 
divorce — and,  to  give  her  every  chance  to  marry  Ruth- 
ven,  he  refused  to  defend  the  suit.  That  sort  of  chivalrv 
is  very  picturesque,  no  doubt,  but  it  cost  him  his  career 
— set  him  adrift  at  thirty-five,  a  man  branded  as  having 
been  divorced  from  his  wife  for  cause,  with  no  profes 
sion  left  him,  no  business,  not  much  money — a  man  in 
the  prime  of  life  and  hope  and  ambition,  clean  in  thought 
and  deed;  an  upright,  just,  generous,  sensitive  man, 
whose  whole  career  has  been  blasted  because  he  was  too 
merciful,  too  generous  to  throw  the  blame  where  it  be 
longed.  And  it  belongs  on  the  shoulders  of  that  Mrs. 
Jack  Ruthven — Alixe  Ruthven — whose  name  you  may 
see  in  the  columns  of  any  paper  that  truckles  to  the  sort 
of  society  she  figures  in." 

Austin  stood  up,  thrust  his  big  hands  into  his  pock 
ets,  paced  the  room  for  a  few  moments,  and  halted  be 
fore  Gerald. 

"  If  any  woman  ever  played  me  a  dirty  trick,"  he 
3  * 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


said,  "  I'd  see  that  the  public  made  no  mistake  in  placing 
the  blame.  I'm  that  sort  " — he  shrugged — "  Phil  Sel- 
wyn  isn't;  that's  the  difference — and  it  may  be  in  his 
favour  from  an  ethical  and  sentimental  point  of  view. 
All  right;  let  it  go  at  that.  But  all  I  meant  you  to 
understand  is  that  he  is  every  inch  a  man ;  and  when  you 
have  the  honour  to  meet  him,  keep  that  fact  in  the  back 
of  your  head,  among  the  few  brains  with  which  Provi 
dence  has  equipped  you." 

"  Thanks !  "  said  Gerald,  colouring  up.  He  cast 
his  cigarette  into  the  empty  fireplace,  slid  off  the  edge 
of  the  table,  and  picked  up  his  hat.  Austin  eyed  him 
without  particular  approval. 

"  You  buy  too  many  clothes,"  he  observed.  "  That's 
a  new  suit,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Gerald;  "  I  needed  it." 

"  Oh !  if  you  can  afford  it,  all  right.  .  .  .  How's 
the  nimble  Mr.  Neergard  ?  " 

"  Neergard  is  flourishing.  We  put  through  that 
Rose  Valley  deal.  I  tell  you  what,  Austin,  I  wish  you 
could  see  your  way  clear  to  finance  one  or  two " 

Austin's  frown  cut  him  short. 

"  Oh,  all  right !  You  know  your  own  business,  of 
course,"  said  the  boy,  a  little  resentfully.  "  Only  as 
Fane,  Harmon  &  Co.  have  thought  it  worth  while " 

"  I  don't  care  what  Fane,  Harmon  think,"  growled 
Austin,  touching  a  button  over  his  desk.  His  stenogra 
pher  entered ;  he  nodded  a  curt  dismissal  to  Gerald,  add 
ing,  as  the  boy  reached  the  door: 

"  Your  sister  expects  you  to  be  on  hand  to-night — 
and  so  do  we." 

Gerald  halted. 

"  I'd  clean  forgotten,"  he  began ;  "  I  made  another 
— a  rather  important  engagement " 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


But  Austin  was  not  listening ;  in  fact,  he  had  already 
begun  to  dictate  to  his  demure  stenographer,  and  Ger 
ald  stood  a  moment,  hesitating,  then  turned  on  his  heel 
and  went  away  down  the  resounding  marble  corridor. 

"  They  never  let  me  alone,"  he  muttered ;  "  they're 
always  at  me — following  me  up  as  though  I  were  a 
schoolboy.  .  .  .  Austin's  the  worst — never  satisfied.  .  .  . 
What  do  I  care  for  all  these  functions — sitting  around 
with  the  younger  set  and  keeping  the  cradle  of  conver 
sation  rocking?  I  won't  go  to  that  infernal  baby- 
show!" 

He  entered  the  elevator  and  shot  down  to  the  great 
rotunda,  still  scowling  over  his  grievance.  For  he  had 
made  arrangements  to  join  a  card-party  at  Julius  Neer- 
gard's  rooms  that  night,  and  he  had  no  intention  of 
foregoing  that  pleasure  just  because  his  sister's  first 
grown-up  dinner-party  was  fixed  for  the  same  date. 

As  for  this  man  Selwyn,  whom  he  had  never  met,  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  should  drop  business  and  scuttle 
uptown  in  order  to  welcome  him.  No  doubt  he  was  a 
good  fellow;  no  doubt  he  had  behaved  very  decently  in 
a  matter  which,  until  a  few  moments  before,  he  had 
heard  little  about.  He  meant  to  be  civil ;  he'd  look  up 
Selwyn  when  he  had  a  chance,  and  ask  him  to  dine  at  the 
club.  But  this  afternoon  he  couldn't  do  it ;  and,  as  for 
the  evening,  he  had  made  his  arrangements,  and  he  had 
no  intention  of  disturbing  them  on  Austin's  account. 

When  he  reached  his  office  he  picked  up  the  telephone 
and  called  up  Gerard's  house ;  but  neither  his  sister  nor 
anybody  else  was  there  except  the  children  and  servants, 
and  Captain  Selwyn  had  not  yet  called.  So  he  left  no 
message,  merely  saying  that  he'd  call  up  again.  Which 
he  forgot  to  do. 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Meanwhile  Captain  Selwyn  was  sauntering  along 
Fifth  Avenue  under  the  leafless  trees,  scanning  the  houses 
of  the  rich  and  great  across  the  way;  and  these  new 
houses  of  the  rich  and  great  stared  back  at  him  out  of 
a  thousand  casements  as  polished  and  expressionless  as 
the  monocles  of  the  mighty. 

And,  strolling  at  leisure  in  the  pleasant  winter 
weather,  he  came  presently  to  a  street,  stretching  east 
ward  in  all  the  cold  impressiveness  of  very  new  limestone 
and  plate-glass. 

Could  this  be  the  street  where  his  sister  now  lived? 

As  usual  when  perplexed  he  slowly  raised  his  hand 
to  his  moustache;  and  his  pleasant  gray  eyes,  still 
slightly  blood-shot  from  the  glare  of  the  tropics,  nar 
rowed  as  he  inspected  this  unfamiliar  house. 

The  house  was  a  big  elaborate  limestone  affair,  evi 
dently  new.  Winter  sunshine  sparkled  on  lace-hung 
casement,  on  glass  marquise,  and  the  burnished  bronze 
foliations  of  grille  and  door. 

It  was  flood  -  tide  along  Fifth  Avenue ;  motor, 
brougham,  and  victoria  swept  by  on  the  glittering 
current ;  pretty  women  glanced  out  from  limousine  and 
tonneau ;  young  men  of  his  own  type,  silk-hatted,  frock- 
coated,  the  crooks  of  their  walking  sticks  tucked  up 
under  their  left  arms,  passed  on  the  Park  side. 

But  the  nods  of  recognition,  lifted  hats,  the  mellow 
warnings  of  motor  horns,  clattering  hoofs,  the  sun 
flashing  on  carriage  wheels  and  polished  panels,  on  liv 
eries,  harness,  on  the  satin  coats  of  horses — a  gem  like 
a  spark  of  fire  smothered  by  the  sables  at  a  woman's 
throat,  and  the  bright  indifference  of  her  beauty — 
all  this  had  long  since  lost  any  meaning  for  him.  For 
him  the  pageant  passed  as  the  west  wind  passes  in 
Samar  over  the  glimmering  valley  grasses ;  and  he  saw 

6 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


it  through  sun-dazzled  eyes — all  this,  and  the  leafless 
trees  beyond  against  the  sky,  and  the  trees  mirrored 
in  a  little  wintry  lake  as  brown  as  the  brown  of  the  eyes 
which  were  closed  to  him  now  forever. 

As  he  stood  there,  again  he  seemed  to  hear  the 
whistle  signal,  clear,  distant,  rippling  across  the  wind 
blown  grasses  where  the  brown  constabulary  lay  firing 
in  the  sunshine;  but  the  rifle  shots  were  the  crack  of 
whips,  and  it  was  only  a  fat  policeman  of  the  traffic 
squad  whistling  to  clear  the  swarming  jungle  trails  of 
the  great  metropolis. 

Again  Selwyn  turned  to  the  house,  hesitating,  un 
reconciled.  Every  sun-lit  window  stared  back  at  him. 

He  had  not  been  prepared  for  so  much  limestone 
and  marquise  magnificence  where  there  was  more  re 
naissance  than  architecture  and  more  bay-window  than 
both ;  but  the  number  was  the  number  of  his  sister's 
house ;  and,  as  the  street  and  the  avenue  corroborated 
the  numbered  information,  he  mounted  the  doorstep, 
rang,  and  leisurely  examined  four  stiff  box-trees  flank 
ing  the  ornate  portal — meagre  vegetation  compared 
to  what  he  had  been  accustomed  to  for  so  many 
years. 

Nobody  came;  once  or  twice  he  fancied  he  heard 
sounds  proceeding  from  inside  the  house.  He  rang 
again  and  fumbled  for  his  card  case.  Somebody  was 
coming. 

The  moment  that  the  door  opened  he  was  aware 
of  a  distant  and  curious  uproar — far  away  echoes  of 
cheering,  and  the  faint  barking  of  dogs.  These  seemed 
to  cease  as  the  man  in  waiting  admitted  him :  but  be 
fore  he  could  make  an  inquiry  or  produce  a  card,  bed 
lam  itself  apparently  broke  loose  somewhere  in  the 
immediate  upper  landing — noise  in  its  crudest  elemen- 
2  7 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


tal  definition — through  which  the  mortified  man  at  the 
door  strove  to  make  himself  heard :  "  Beg  pardon,  sir, 
it's  the  children  broke  loose  an'  runnin*  wild-like " 

"The  what?" 

"  Only  the  children,  sir  —  fox-huntin'  the  cat, 
sir " 

His  voice  was  lost  in  the  yelling  dissonance  de 
scending  crescendo  from  floor  to  floor.  Then  an  ava 
lanche  of  children  and  dogs  poured  down  the  hall- 
stairs  in  pursuit  of  a  rumpled  and  bored  cat,  tumbling 
with  yelps  and  cheers  and  thuds  among  the  thick  rugs 
on  the  floor. 

Here  the  cat  turned  and  soundly  cuffed  a  pair  of 
fat  beagle  puppies,  who  shrieked  and  fled,  burrowing 
for  safety  into  the  yelling  heap  of  children  and  dogs 
on  the  floor.  Above  this  heap  legs,  arms,  and  the 
tails  of  dogs  waved  wildly  for  a  moment,  then  a  small 
boy,  blond  hair  in  disorder,  staggered  to  his  knees,  and, 
setting  hollowed  hand  to  cheek,  shouted :  "  Hi !  f  or'- 
rard!  Harkaway  for'rard!  Take  him,  Rags!  Now, 
Tatters !  After  him,  Owney !  Get  on,  there,  Schnitzel ! 
Worry  him,  Stinger !  Tally-ho-o !  " 

At  which  encouraging  invitation  the  two  fat  beagle 
pups,  a  waddling  dachshund,  a  cocker,  and  an  Irish 
terrier  flew  at  Selwyn's  nicely  creased  trousers;  and 
the  small  boy,  rising  to  his  feet,  became  aware  of  that 
astonished  gentleman  for  the  first  time. 

"  Steady,  there !  "  exclaimed  Selwyn,  bringing  his 
walking  stick  to  a  brisk  bayonet  defence ;  "  steady, 
men !  Prepare  to  receive  infantry — and  doggery,  too  !  " 
he  added,  backing  away.  "  No  quarter !  Remember  the 
Alamo ! " 

The  man  at  the  door  had  been  too  horrified  to 
speak,  but  he  found  his  voice  now. 

8 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


"  Oh,  you  hush  up,  Dawson !  "  said  the  boy ;  and  to 
Selwyn  he  added  tentatively,  "  Hello !  " 

"  Hello  yourself,"  replied  Selwyn,  keeping  off  the 
circling  pups  with  the  point  of  his  stick.  "  What  is 
this,  anyway — a  Walpurgis  hunt? — or  Eliza  and  the 
bloodhounds  ?  " 

Several  children,  disentangling  themselves  from  the 
heap,  rose  to  confront  the  visitor;  the  shocked  man, 
Dawson,  attempted  to  speak  again,  but  Selwyn's  raised 
hand  quieted  him. 

The  small  boy  with  the  blond  hair  stepped  forward 
and  dragged  several  dogs  from  the  vicinity  of  Sel 
wyn's  shins. 

"  This  is  the  Shallowbrook  hunt,"  he  explained ;  "  I 
am  Master  of  Hounds;  my  sister  Drina,  there,  is  one 
of  the  whips.  Part  of  the  game  is  to  all  fall  down 
together  and  pretend  we've  come  croppers.  You  see, 
don't  you?" 

"  I  see,"  nodded  Selwyn ;  "  it's  a  pretty  stiff  hunt 
ing  country,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is.  There's  wire,  you  know,"  volunteered 
the  girl,  Drina,  rubbing  the  bruises  on  her  plump  shins. 

"  Exactly,"  agreed  Selwyn ;  "  bad  thing,  wire. 
Your  whips  should  warn  you." 

The  big  black  cat,  horribly  bored  by  the  proceed 
ings,  had  settled  down  on  a  hall  seat,  keeping  one  dis 
dainful  yellow  eye  on  the  dogs. 

"  All  the  same,  we  had  a  pretty  good  run,"  said 
Drina,  taking  the  cat  into  her  arms  and  seating  her 
self  on  the  cushions;  "didn't  we,  Kit-Ki?  "  And, 
turning  to  Selwyn,  "  Kit-Ki  makes  a  pretty  good  fox 
— only  she  isn't  enough  afraid  of  us  to  run  away  very 
fast.  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  Our  mother  is  not  at  home, 
but  we  are." 

9 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Would  you  really  like  to  have  me  stay  ?  "  asked 
Selwyn. 

"  Well,"  admitted  Drina  frankly,  "  of  course  we 
can't  tell  yet  how  interesting  you  are  because  we  don't 
know  you.  We  are  trying  to  be  polite — "  and,  in  a 
fierce  whisper,  turning  on  the  smaller  of  the  boys — 
"  Winthrop !  take  your  finger  out  of  your  mouth  and 
stop  staring  at  guests!  Billy,  you  make  him  behave 
himself." 

The  blond-haired  M.  F.  H.  reached  for  his  younger 
brother;  the  infant  culprit  avoided  him  and  sullenly 
withdrew  the  sucked  finger  but  not  his  fascinated 
gaze. 

"  I  want  to  know  who  he  ith,"  he  lisped  in  a  loud 
aside. 

"  So  do  I,"  admitted  a  tiny  maid  in  stickout 
skirts. 

Drina  dropped  the  cat,  swept  the  curly  hair  from 
her  eyes,  and  stood  up  very  straight  in  her  kilts  and 
bare  knees. 

"  They  don't  really  mean  to  be  rude,"  she  ex 
plained  ;  "  they're  only  children."  Then,  detecting  the 
glimmering  smile  in  Selwyn's  eyes,  "  But  perhaps  you 
wouldn't  mind  telling  us  who  you  are  because  we  all 
would  like  to  know,  but  we  are  not  going  to  be  ill- 
bred  enough  to  ask." 

Their  direct  expectant  gaze  slightly  embarrassed 
him;  he  laughed  a  little,  but  there  was  no  response 
from  them. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  as  a  matter  of  fact  and  record, 
I  am  a  sort  of  relative  of  yours — a  species  of  avuncular 
relation." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Drina  coldly. 

"  That,"  said  Selwyn,  "  means  that  I'm  more  or 
10 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


less  of  an  uncle  to  you.  Hope  you  don't  mind.  You 
don't  have  to  entertain  me,  you  know." 

"  An  uncle !  "  repeated  Drina. 

"Our  uncle?"  echoed  Billy.  "You  are  not  our 
soldier  uncle,  are  you?  You  are  not  our  Uncle  Philip, 
are  you  ?  " 

"  It  amounts  to  that,"  admitted  Selwyn.  "  Is  it  all 
right?" 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  broken  abruptly  by  Billy ; 
"  Where  is  your  sword,  then  ?  " 

"  At  the  hotel.     Would  you  like  to  see  it,  Billy?  " 

The  five  children  drew  a  step  nearer,  inspecting 
him  with  merciless  candour. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  asked  Selwyn  again,  smilingly 
uneasy  under  the  concentrated  scrutiny.  "  How  about 
it,  Drina?  Shall  we  shake  hands?  " 

Drina  spoke  at  last :  "  Ye-es,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I 
think  it  is  all  right  to  shake  hands."  She  took  a  step 
forward,  stretching  out  her  hand. 

Selwyn  stooped ;  she  laid  her  right  hand  across  his, 
hesitated,  looked  up  fearlessly,  and  then,  raising  her 
self  on  tiptoe,  placed  both  arms  upon  his  shoulders, 
offering  her  lips. 

One  by  one  the  other  children  came  forward  to 
greet  this  promising  new  uncle  whom  the  younger 
among  them  had  never  before  seen,  and  whom  Drina, 
the  oldest,  had  forgotten  except  as  that  fabled  war 
rior  of  legendary  exploits  whose  name  and  fame  had 
become  cherished  classics  of  their  nursery. 

And  now  children  and  dogs  clustered  amicably 
around  him;  under  foot  tails  wagged,  noses  sniffed; 
playful  puppy  teeth  tweaked  at  his  coat-skirts;  and 
in  front  and  at  either  hand  eager  flushed  little  faces 
were  upturned  to  his,  shy  hands  sought  his  and  nestled 

11 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


confidently  into  the  hollow  of  his  palms  or  took  firm 
proprietary  hold  of  sleeve  and  coat. 

"  I  infer,"  observed  Selwyn  blandly,  "  that  your 
father  and  mother  are  not  at  home.  Perhaps  I'd  better 
stop  in  later." 

"But  you  are  going  to  stay  here,  aren't  you?" 
exclaimed  Drina  in  dismay.  "  Don't  you  expect  to  tell 
us  stories?  Don't  you  expect  to  stay  here  and  live 
with  us  and  put  on  your  uniform  for  us  and  show  us 
your  swords  and  pistols  ?  Don't  you ?  " 

"  We  have  waited  such  a  very  long  time  for  you 
to  do  this,"  added  Billy. 

"  If  you'll  come  up  to  the  nursery  we'll  have  a 
drag-hunt  for  you,"  pleaded  Drina.  "  Everybody  is 
out  of  the  house  and  we  can  make  as  much  noise  as 
we  please !  Will  you  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  any  governesses  or  nurses  or  some 
thing?  "  asked  Selwyn,  finding  himself  already  on  the 
stairway,  and  still  being  dragged  upward. 

"  Our  governess  is  away,"  said  Billy  triumphantly, 
"  and  our  nurses  can  do  nothing  with  us." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  murmured  Selwyn ;  "  but  where 
are  they  ?  " 

"  Somebody  must  have  locked  them  in  the  school 
room,"  observed  Billy  carelessly.  "  Come  on,  Uncle 
Philip ;  we'll  have  a  first-class  drag-hunt  before  we  un 
lock  the  schoolroom  and  let  them  out." 

"  Anyway,  they  can  brew  tea  there  if  they  are 
lonely,"  added  Drina,  ushering  Selwyn  into  the  big 
sunny  nursery,  where  he  stood,  irresolute,  looking  about 
him,  aware  that  he  was  conniving  at  open  mutiny.  From 
somewhere  on  the  floor  above  persistent  hammering 
and  muffled  appeals  satisfied  him  as  to  the  location  and 
indignation  of  the  schoolroom  prisoners. 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


"You  ought  to  let  them  out,"  he  said.  "You'll 
surely  be  punished." 

"  We  will  let  them  out  after  we've  made  noise 
enough,"  said  Billy  calmly.  "  We'll  probably  be  pun 
ished  anyway,  so  we  may  as  well  make  a  noise." 

"  Yes,"  added  Drina,  "  we  are  going  to  make  all 
the  noise  we  can  while  we  have  the  opportunity.  Billy, 
is  everything  ready  ?  " 

And  before  Selwyn  understood  precisely  what  was 
happening,  he  found  himself  the  centre  of  a  circle  of 
madly  racing  children  and  dogs.  Round  and  round 
him  they  tore.  Billy  yelled  for  the  hurdles  and  Jo 
sephine  knocked  over  some  chairs  and  dragged  them 
across  the  course  of  the  route :  and  over  them  leaped 
and  scrambled  children  and  puppies,  splitting  the  air 
with  that  same  quality  of  din  which  had  greeted  him 
upon  his  entrance  to  his  sister's  house. 

When  there  was  no  more  breath  left  in  the  chil 
dren,  and  when  the  dogs  lay  about,  grinning  and  loll 
ing,  Drina  approached  him,  bland  and  dishevelled. 

"  That  circus,"  she  explained,  "  was  for  your  en 
tertainment.  Now  will  you  please  do  something  for 
ours?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Selwyn,  looking  about  him  vague 
ly  ;  "  shall  we — er — build  blocks,  or  shall  I  read  to  you 
— er — out  of  that  big  picture-book " 


., 


Picture-bookl "  repeated  Billy  with  scorn; 
"  that's  good  enough  for  nurses  to  read.  You're 
a  soldier,  you  know.  Soldiers  have  real  stories  to 
tell." 

"  I  see,"  he  said  meekly.     "  What  am  I  to  tell  you 
about — our  missionaries  in  Sulu?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,"  began  Drina,  "  you  are  to  lie 
down  flat  on  the  floor  and  creep  about  and  show  us 

13 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


how  the  Moros  wriggle  through  the  grass  to  bolo  our 
sentinels." 

"  Why,  it's — it's  this  wa»y,"  began  Selwyn,  leaning 
back  in  his  rocking-chair  and  comfortably  crossing  one 
knee  over  the  other ;  "  for  instance,  suppose " 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  show  us ! "  interrupted  Billy. 
"  Get  down  on  the  floor  please,  uncle." 

"  I  can  tell  it  better !  "  protested  Selwyn ;  "  I  can 
show  you  just  the " 

"  Please  lie  down  and  show  us  how  they  wriggle?  " 
begged  Drina. 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  down  on  the  floor,"  he  said 
feebly;  "is  it  necessary?" 

But  they  had  already  discovered  that  he  could  be 
bullied,  and  they  had  it  their  own  way;  and  presently 
Selwyn  lay  prone  upon  the  nursery  floor,  impersonat 
ing  a  ladrone  while  pleasant  shivers  chased  themselves 
over  Drina,  whom  he  was  stalking. 

And  it  was  while  all  were  passionately  intent  upon 
the  pleasing  and  snake-like  progress  of  their  uncle 
that  a  young  girl  in  furs,  ascending  the  stairs  two  at 
a  time,  peeped  perfunctorily  into  the  nursery  as  she 
passed  the  hallway — and  halted  amazed. 

Selwyn,  sitting  up  rumpled  and  cross-legged  on 
the  floor,  after  having  boloed  Drina  to  everybody's 
exquisite  satisfaction,  looked  around  at  the  sudden  rus 
tle  of  skirts  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  vanishing  figure — 
a  glimmer  of  ruddy  hair  and  the  white  curve  of  a 
youthful  face,  half-buried  in  a  muff. 

Mortified,  he  got  to  his  feet,  glanced  out  into  the 
hallway,  and  began  adjusting  his  attire. 

"  No,  you  don't ! "  he  said  mildly,  "  I  decline  to 
perform  again.  If  you  want  any  more  wriggling 
you  must  accomplish  it  yourselves.  Drina,  has  your 

14 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


governess  —  by  any  unfortunate  chance  —  er  —  red 
hair?" 

"  No,"  said  the  child ;  "  and  won't  you  please  crawl 
across  the  floor  and  bolo  me — just  once  more?  " 

"  Bolo  me !  "  insisted  Billy.  "  I  haven't  been  man 
gled  yet!" 

"  Let  Billy  assassinate  somebody  himself.  And,  by 
the  way,  Drina,  are  there  any  maids  or  nurses  or 
servants  in  this  remarkable  house  who  occasionally 
wear  copper-tinted  hair  and  black  fox  furs  ?  " 

"  No.  Eileen  does.  Won't  you  please  wrig- 
gle-  -" 

"Who  is  Eileen?" 

"  Eileen?     Why — don't  you  know  who  Eileen  is?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  began  Captain  Selwyn,  when  a  de 
lighted  shout  from  the  children  swung  him  toward  the 
door  again.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Gerard,  stood  there  in 
carriage  gown  and  sables,  radiant  with  surprise. 

"Phil!  You!  Exactly  like  you,  Philip,  to  come 
strolling  in  from  the  antipodes — dear  fellow !  "  recov 
ering  from  the  fraternal  embrace  and  holding  both 
lapels  of  his  coat  in  her  gloved  hands.  "  Six  years !  " 
she  said  again  and  again,  tenderly  reproachful ;  "  Al 
exandrine  was  a  baby  of  six —  Drina,  child,  do  you 
remember  my  brother — do  you  remember  your  Uncle 
Philip?  She  doesn't  remember;  you  can't  expect  her 
to  recollect ;  she  is  only  twelve,  Phil " 

"  I  remember  one  thing,"  observed  Drina  serenely. 

Brother  and  sister  turned  toward  her  in  pride  and 
delight ;  and  the  child  went  on :  "  My  Aunt  Alixe ;  I 
remember  her.  She  was  so  pretty,"  concluded  Drina, 
nodding  thoughtfully  in  the  effort  to  remember  more; 
"  Uncle  Philip,  where  is  she  now?  " 

But  her  uncle  seemed  to  have  lost  his  voice  as  well 
15 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


as  his  colour,  and  Mrs.  Gerard's  gloved  fingers  tight 
ened  on  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 

"  Drina — child — "  she  faltered ;  but  Drina,  im 
mersed  in  reflection,  smiled  dreamily;  "  So  pretty," 
she  murmured ;  "  I  remember  my  Aunt  Alixe " 

"  Drina !  "  repeated  her  mother  sharply,  "  go  and 
find  Bridget  this  minute !  " 

Selwyn's  hesitating  hand  sought  his  moustache; 
he  lifted  his  eyes — the  steady  gray  eyes,  slightly 
bloodshot — to  his  sister's  distressed  face. 

"  I  never  dreamed — "  she  began — "  the  child  has 
never  spoken  of — of  her  from  that  time  to  this!  I 
never  dreamed  she  could  remember " 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  are  talking  about, 
mother,"  said  Drina;  but  her  pretty  mother  caught 
her  by  the  shoulders,  striving  to  speak  lightly; 
"  Where  in  the  world  is  Bridget,  child  ?  Where  is 
Katie?  And  what  is  all  this  I  hear  from  Dawson?  It 
can't  be  possible  that  you  have  been  .fox-hunting  all 
over  the  house  again !  Your  nurses  know  perfectly 
well  that  you  are  not  to  hunt  anywhere  except  in  your 
own  nursery." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Drina,  "  but  Kit-Ki  got  out  and 
ran  downstairs.  We  had  to  follow  her,  you  know, 
until  she  went  to  earth." 

Selwyn  quietly  bent  over  toward  Billy :  "  'Ware 
wire,  my  friend,"  he  said  under  his  breath ;  "  you'd 
better  cut  upstairs  and  unlock  that  schoolroom." 

And  while  Mrs.  Gerard  turned  her  attention  to  the 
cluster  of  clamouring  younger  children,  the  boy  van 
ished  only  to  reappear  a  moment  later,  retreating  be 
fore  the  vengeful  exclamations  of  the  lately  imprisoned 
nurses  who  pursued  him,  caps  and  aprons  flying,  be 
wailing  aloud  their  ignominious  incarceration. 

16 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


"  Billy !  "  exclaimed  his  mother,  "  did  you  do  that  ? 
Bridget,  Master  William  is  to  take  supper  by  himself 
in  the  schoolroom — and  no  marmalade! — No,  Billy,  not 
one  drop ! " 

"  We  all  saw  him  lock  the  door,"  said  Drina  hon 
estly. 

"  And  you  let  him?  Oh,  Drina ! — And  Ellen !  Katie ! 
No  marmalade  for  Miss  Drina — none  for  any  of  the 
children.  Josie,  mother  feels  dreadfully  because  you 
all  have  been  so  naughty.  Winthrop ! — your  finger! 
Instantly !  Clemence,  baby,  where  on  earth  did  you 
acquire  all  that  grime  on  your  face  and  fists  ?  "  And 
to  her  brother :  "  Such  a  household,  Phil !  Every 
body  incompetent — including  me ;  everything  topsy 
turvy  ;  and  all  five  dogs  perfectly  possessed  to  lie  on 
that  pink  rug  in  the  music  room. — Have  they  been 
there  to-day,  Drina? — while  you  were  practising?  " 

"  Yes,  and  there  are  some  new  spots,  mother.  I'm 
very  sorry." 

"  Take  the  children  away !  "  said  Mrs.  Gerard.  But 
she  bent  over,  kissing  each  culprit  as  the  file  passed 
out,  convoyed  by  the  amply  revenged  nurses.  "  No 
marmalade,  remember;  and  mother  has  a  great  mind 
not  to  come  up  at  bedtime  and  lean  over  you.  Mother 
has  no  desire  to  lean  over  her  babies  to-night." 

To  "  lean  over  "  the  children  was  always  expected 
of  this  mother ;  the  direst  punishment  on  the  rather 
brief  list  was  to  omit  this  intimate  evening  ceremony. 

"  M-mother,"  stammered  the  Master  of  Fox 
Hounds,  "you  will  lean  over  us,  won't  you?" 

"  Mother  hasn't  decided " 

"  Oh,  muvver !  "  wailed  Josie ;  and  a  howl  of  grief 
and  dismay  rose  from  Winthrop,  modified  to  a  gurgle 
by  the  forbidden  finger. 

17 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"You  will,  won't  you?"  begged  Drina.  "We've 
been  pretty  bad,  but  not  bad  enough  for  that ! " 

"  I — Oh,  yes,  I  will.  Stop  that  noise,  Winthrop ! 
Josie,  I'm  going  to  lean  over  you — and  you,  too, 
Clemence,  baby.  Katie,  take  those  dogs  away  imme 
diately;  and  remember  about  the  marmalade." 

Reassured,  smiling  through  tears,  the  children 
trooped  off,  it  being  the  bathing  hour;  and  Mrs. 
Gerard  threw  her  fur  stole  over  one  shoulder  and 
linked  her  slender  arm  in  her  brother's. 

"  You  see,  I'm  not  much  of  a  mother,"  she  said ; 
"  if  I  was  I'd  stay  here  all  day  and  every  day,  week  in 
and  year  out,  and  try  to  make  these  poor  infants  happy. 
I  have  no  business  to  leave  them  for  one  second !  " 

"  Wouldn't  they  get  too  much  of  you?  "  suggested 
Selwyn. 

"  Thanks.  I  suppose  that  even  a  mother  had  bet 
ter  practise  an  artistic  absence  occasionally.  Are  they 
not  sweet  ?  What  do  you  think  of  them  ?  You  never  be 
fore  saw  the  three  youngest ;  you  saw  Drina  when  you 
went  east — and  Billy  was  a  few  months  old — what  do 
you  think  of  them?  Honestly,  Phil?  " 

"  All  to  the  good,  Ninette ;  very  ornamental. 
Drina — and  that  Josephine  kid  are  real  beauties.  I — 
er — take  to  Billy  tremendously.  He  told  me  that  he'd 
locked  up  his  nurses.  I  ought  to  have  interfered.  It 
was  really  my  fault,  you  see." 

"  And  you  didn't  make  him  let  them  out?  You  are 
not  going  to  be  very  good  morally  for  my  young. 
Tell  me,  Phil,  have  you  seen  Austin  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  the  Trust  Company,  but  he  was  attend 
ing  a  directors'  confab.  How  is  he?  He's  prosperous 
anyhow,  I  observe,"  with  a  humorous  glance  around 
the  elaborate  hallway  which  they  were  traversing. 

18 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


"  Don't  dare  laugh  at  us !  "  smiled  his  sister.  "  I 
wish  we  were  back  in  Tenth  Street.  But  so  many  chil 
dren  came — Billy,  Josephine,  Winthrop,  and  Tina — 
and  the  Tenth  Street  house  wasn't  half  big  enough; 
and  a  dreadful  speculative  builder  built  this  house  and 
persuaded  Austin  to  buy  it.  Oh,  dear,  and  here  we 
are  among  the  rich  and  great ;  and  the  steel  kings 
and  copper  kings  and  oil  kings  and  their  heirs  and 
dauphins.  Do  you  like  the  house?" 

"  It's — ah — roomy,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"  Oh !  It  isn't  so  bad  from  the  outside.  And  we 
have  just  had  it  redecorated  inside.  Mizner  did  it. 
Look,  dear,  isn't  that  a  cunning  bed-room  ?  "  drawing 
him  toward  a  partly  open  door.  "  Don't  be  so  hor 
ridly  critical.  Austin  is  becoming  used  to  it  now,  so 
don't  stir  him  up  and  make  fun  of  things.  Anyway 
you're  going  to  stay  here." 

"  No,  I'm  at  the  Holland." 

"  Of  course  you're  to  live  with  us.  You've  resigned 
from  the  service,  haven't  you?  " 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  did  not  reply. 

A  curious  flash  of  telepathy  passed  between  them; 
she  hesitated,  then: 

"  You  once  promised  Austin  and  me  that  you  would 
stay  with  us." 

"  But,  Nina " 

"  No,  no,  no !  Wait,"  pressing  an  electric  but 
ton  ;  "  Watson,  Captain  Selwyn's  luggage  is  to  be 
brought  here  immediately  from  the  Holland!  Immedi 
ately  !  "  And  to  Selwyn :  "  Austin  will  not  be  at  home 
before  half-past  six.  Come  up  with  me  now  and  see 
your  quarters — a  perfectly  charming  place  for  you,  with 
your  own  smoking-room  and  dressing-closet  and  bath. 
Wait,  we'll  take  the  elevator — as  long  as  we  have  one." 

19 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Smilingly  protesting,  yet  touched  by  the  undis 
guised  sincerity  of  his  welcome,  he  suffered  himself 
to  be  led  into  the  elevator — a  dainty  white  and  rose 
rococo  affair.  His  sister  adjusted  a  tiny  lever;  the  car 
moved  smoothly  upward  and  presently  stopped;  and 
they  emerged  upon  a  wide  lam 

"  Here,"  said  Nina,  throwin^ppen  a  door.  "  Isn't 
this  comfortable?  Is  there  anything  you  don't  fancy 
about  it?  If  there  is,  tell  metjrankly." 

"  Little  sister,"  he  said,  imprisoning  both  her  hands, 
"  it  is  a  paradise — but  I  do»p  intend  to  come  here  and 
squat  on  my  relatives,  andflwon't !  " 

"  Philip !     You  are  coiJni^ !  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  and /Austin  think  you  want  me." 

"Phil!" 

"  All  right,  de|ir.  \t'll — it's  awfully  generous  of 
you — so  I'll  pay\  ycK^^t  visit — f°r  a  little  while." 

"  You'll  live  here,  that's  what  you'll  do — though 
I  suppose  you  areWseecming  and  scheming  to  have  all 
sorts  of  secret  cave^  and  queer  places  to  yourself — 
horrid,  grinw,\moky  bachelor  quarters  where  you  can 
behave  sans-f^wnX* 

"  I've  had  je^&hgh  of  sans-fafon"  he  said  grimly. 
"  After  shacks'  and  bungalows  and  gun-boats  and  troop 
ships,  do  you  suppose  this  doesn't  look  rather  heav 
enly?" 

"  Dear  fellow !  "  she  said,  looking  tenderly  at  him ; 
and  then  under  her  breath :  "  What  a  ghastly  life  you 
have  led!" 

But  he  knew  she  did  not  refer  to  the  military  por 
tion  of  his  life. 

He  threw  back  his  coat,  dug  both  hands  into  his 
pockets,  and  began  to  wander  about  the  rooms,  halt 
ing  sometimes  to  examine  nondescript  articles  of  orna- 

20 


3: 

_= 
tn 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


ment  or  bits  of  furniture  as  though  politely  interested. 
But  she  knew  his  thoughts  were  steadily  elsewhere. 

Sauntering  about,  aware  at  moments  that  her  trou 
bled  eyes  were  following  him,  he  came  back,  presently, 
to  where  she  sat  perched  upon  his  bed. 

"  It  all  looks  most  inviting,  Nina,"  he  said  cheer 
fully,  seating  himself  beside  her.  "  I — well,  you  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  understand  how  this  idea  of  a 
home  takes  hold  of  a  man  who  has  none." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  said. 

"  All  this — "  he  paused,  leisurely,  to  select  his 
words — "  all  this — you — the  children — that  jolly  nur 
sery — "  he  stopped  again,  looking  out  of  the  window ; 
and  his  sister  looked  at  him  through  eyes  grown  misty. 

"  There  is  no  reason,"  she  said,  "  why  you  should 
not  call  this  house  home." 

"  N-no  reason.  Thank  you.  I  will — for  a  few 
days." 

"  No  reason,  dear,"  she  insisted.  "  We  are  your 
own  people;  we  are  all  you  have,  Phil! — the  children 
adore  you  already;  Austin — you  know  what  he  thinks 
of  you ;  and — and  I " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Ninette."  He  sat  partly 
turned  from  her,  staring  at  the  sunny  window.  Pres 
ently  he  slid  his  hand  back  along  the  bed-covers  until  it 
touched  and  tightened  over  hers.  And  in  silence  she 
raised  it  to  her  lips. 

They  remained  so  for  a  while,  he  still  partly  turned 
from  her,  his  perplexed  and  narrowing  gaze  fixed  on 
the  window,  she  pressing  his  clenched  hand  to  her  lips, 
thoughtful  and  silent. 

"  Before  Austin  comes,"  he  said  at  length,  "  let's 
get  the  thing  over — and  buried — as  long  as  it  will  stay 
buried." 

21 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


6  Yes,  dear." 

"  Well,  then — then — "  but  his  throat  closed  tight 
with  the  effort. 

"  Alixe  is  here,"  she  said  gently ;  "  did  you  know 
it?" 

He  nodded. 

"  You  know,  of  course,  that  she's  married  Jack 
Ruthven?" 

He  nodded  again. 

"  Are  you  on  leave,  Phil,  or  have  you  really  re 
signed?" 

"  Resigned." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  sighed. 

He  said :  "  As  I  did  not  defend  the  suit  I  couldn't 
remain  in  the  service.  There's  too  much  said  about 
us,  anyway — about  us  who  are  appointed  from  civil 
life.  And  then — to  have  that  happen !  " 

"Phil?" 

"What?" 

"Will  you  answer  me  one  thing?" 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so." 

"  Do  you  still  care  for — her  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her." 

After  a  painful  silence  his  sister  said :  "  Could  you 
tell  me  how  it  began,  Phil?  " 

"  How  it  began?  I  don't  know  that,  either.  When 
Bannard's  command  took  the  field  I  went  with  the  scouts. 
Alixe  remained  in  Manila.  Ruthven  was  there  for  Fane, 
Harmon  &  Co.  That's  how  it  began,  I  suppose ;  and  it's 
a  rotten  climate  for  morals ;  and  that's  how  it  began." 

"Only  that?" 

"  We  had  had  differences.  It's  been  one  misunder 
standing  after  another.  If  you  mean  was  I  mixed  up 
with  another  woman — no!  She  knew  that." 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


"  She  was  very  young,  Phil." 

He  nodded :  "  I  don't  blame  her." 

"  Couldn't  anything  have  been  done?  " 

"  If  it  could,  neither  she  nor  I  did  it — or  knew  how 
to  do  it,  I  suppose.  It  went  wrong  from  the  begin 
ning;  it  was  founded  on  froth — she  had  been  engaged 
to  Harmon,  and  she  threw  him  over  for  '  Boots  ' 
Lansing.  Then  I  came  along — Boots  behaved  like  a 
thoroughbred — that  is  all  there  is  to  it — inexperience, 
romance,  trouble — a  quick  beginning,  a  quick  parting, 
and  two  more  fools  to  give  the  lie  to  civilization,  and 
justify  the  West  Pointers  in  their  opinions  of  civil 
appointees." 

"  Try  not  to  be  so  bitter,  Phil ;  did  you  know  she 
was  going  before  she  left  Manila?  " 

"  I  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  of  the  affair.  I 
thought  that  we  were  trying  to  learn  something  about 
life  and  about  each  other.  .  .  .  Then  that  climax 
came." 

He  turned  and  stared  out  of  the  window,  dropping 
his  sister's  hand.  "  She  couldn't  stand  me,  she  couldn't 
stand  the  life,  the  climate,  the  inconveniences,  the  ab 
sence  of  what  she  was  accustomed  to.  She  was  dead 
tired  of  it  all.  I  can  understand  that.  And  I — I 
didn't  know  what  to  do  about  it.  ...  So  we  drifted; 
and  the  catastrophe  came  very  quickly.  Let  me  tell 
you  something;  a  West  Pointer,  an  Annapolis  man, 
knows  what  sort  of  life  he's  going  into  and  what  he 
is  to  expect  when  he  marries.  Usually,  too,  he  marries 
into  the  Army  or  Navy  set ;  and  the  girl  knows,  too, 
what  kind  of  a  married  life  that  means. 

"  But  I  didn't.  Neither  did  Alixe.  And  we  went 
under;  that's  all — fighting  each  other  heart  and  soul 
to  the  end.  ...  Is  she  happy  with  Ruthven?  I  never 
3  23 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


knew  him — and  never  cared  to.  I  suppose  they  go 
about  in  town  among  the  yellow  set.  Do  they  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I've  met  Alixe  once  or  twice.  She  was  per 
fectly  composed — formal  but  unembarrassed.  She  has 
shifted  her  milieu  somewhat — it  began  with  the  influx 
of  Ruthven's  friends  from  the  4  yellow '  section  of 
the  younger  married  set — the  Orchils,  Fanes,  Minsters, 
and  Delmour-Carnes.  Which  is  all  right  if  she'd  stay 
there.  But  in  town  you're  likely  to  encounter  any 
body  where  the  somebodies  of  one  set  merge  into  the 
somebodies  of  another.  And  we're  always  looking  over 
our  fences,  you  know.  .  .  .  By  the  way,"  she  added 
cheerfully,  "  I'm  dipping  into  the  younger  set  myself 
to-night — on  Eileen's  account.  I  brought  her  out 
Thursday  and  I'm  giving  a  dinner  for  her  to-night." 

"  Who's  Eileen?  "  he  asked. 

"Eileen?  Why,  don't  you — why,  of  course,  you 
don't  know  yet  that  I've  taken  Eileen  for  my  own.  I 
didn't  want  to  write  you;  I  wanted  first  to  see  how 
it  would  turn  out ;  and  when  I  saw  that  it  was  turn 
ing  out  perfectly,  I  thought  it  better  to  wait  until  you 
could  return  and  hear  all  about  it  from  me,  because 
one  can't  write  that  sort  of  thing " 

"Nina!" 

"  What,  dear?  "  she  said,  startled. 

"  Who  the  dickens  is  Eileen?  " 

"  Philip !  You  are  precisely  like  Austin ;  you  grow 
impatient  of  preliminary  details  when  I'm  doing  my 
very  best  attempting  to  explain  just  as  clearly  as  I 
can.  Now  I  will  go  on  and  say  that  Eileen  is  Molly 
Erroll's  daughter,  and  the  courts  appointed  Austin  and 
me  guardians  for  her  and  for  her  brother  Gerald." 

"Oh!" 

"  Now  is  it  clear  to  you?  " 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


"  Yes,"  he  said,  thinking  of  the  tragedy  which  had 
left  the  child  so  utterly  alone  in  the  world,  save  for  her 
brother  and  a  distant  kinship  by  marriage  with  the 
Gerards. 

For  a  while  he  sat  brooding,  arms  loosely  folded, 
immersed  once  more  in  his  own  troubles. 

"  It  seems  a  shame,"  he  said,  "  that  a  family  like 
ours,  whose  name  has  always  spelled  decency,  should 
find  themselves  entangled  in  the  very  things  their  race 
has  always  hated  and  managed  to  avoid.  And  through 
me,  too." 

"  It  was  not  your  fault,  Phil." 

"  No,  not  the  divorce  part.  Do  you  suppose  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  any  kind  of  medicine  before  re 
sorting  to  that !  But  what's  the  use ;  for  you  can 
try  as  you  may  to  keep  your  name  clean,  and  then 
you  can  fold  your  arms  and  wait  to  see  what  a  hope 
less  fool  fate  makes  of  you." 

"  But  no  disgrace  touches  you,  dear,"  she  said 
tremulously. 

"  I've  been  all  over  that,  too,"  he  said  with  quiet 
bitterness.  "  You  are  partly  right ;  nobody  cares  in 
this  town.  Even  though  I  did  not  defend  the  suit, 
nobody  cares.  And  there's  no  disgrace,  I  suppose,  if 
nobody  cares  enough  even  to  condone.  Divorce  is  no 
longer  noticed ;  it  is  a  matter  of  ordinary  occurrence — 
a  matter  of  routine  in  some  sets.  Who  cares? — except 
decent  folk?  And  they  only  think  it's  a  pity — and 
wouldn't  do  it  themselves.  The  horrified  clamour 
comes  from  outside  the  social  registers  and  blue  books ; 
we  know  they're  right,  but  it  doesn't  affect  us.  What 
does  affect  us  is  that  we  were  the  decent  folk  who 
permitted  ourselves  the  luxury  of  being  sorry  for 
others  who  resorted  to  divorce  as  a  remedy  but 

25 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


wouldn't  do  it  ourselves!  .  .  .  Now  we've  done  it 
and " 

"  Phil !     I  will  not  have  you  feel  that  way." 

"What  way?" 

"  The  way  you  feel.  We  are  older  than  we  were — 
everybody  is  older — the  world  is,  too.  What  we  were 
brought  up  to  consider  impossible " 

"  What  we  were  brought  up  to  consider  impos 
sible  was  what  kept  me  up  to  the  mark  out  there, 
Nina."  He  made  a  gesture  toward  the  East.  "  Now, 
I  come  back  here  and  learn  that  we've  all  outgrown 
those  ideas " 

"  Phil !     I  never  meant  that." 

He  said :  "  If  Alixe  found  that  she  cared  for  Ruth- 
ven,  I  don't  blame  her.  Laws  and  statutes  can't  gov 
ern  such  matters.  If  she  found  she  no  longer  cared 
for  me,  I  could  not  blame  her.  But  two  people,  mis- 
mated,  have  only  one  chance  in  this  world — to  live 
their  tragedy  through  with  dignity.  That  is  ab 
solutely  all  life  holds  for  them.  Beyond  that,  outside 
of  that  dead  line — treachery  to  self  and  race  and 
civilisation!  That  is  my  conclusion  after  a  year's 
experience  in  hell."  He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor,  fingers  worrying  his  moustache.  "  Law  ?  Can 
a  law,  which  I  do  not  accept,  let  me  loose  to  risk  it 
all  again  with  another  woman  ?  " 

She  said  slowly,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap: 
"  It  is  well  you've  come  to  me  at  last.  You've  been 
turning  round  and  round  in  that  wheeled  cage  until 
you  think  you've  made  enormous  progress;  and  you 
haven't.  Dear,  listen  to  me;  what  you  honestly  be 
lieve  to  be  unselfish  and  high-minded  adherence  to 
principle,  is  nothing  but  the  circling  reasoning  of  a 
hurt  mind — an  intelligence  still  numbed  from  shock,  a 

26 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


mental  and  physical  life  forced  by  sheer  courage  into 
mechanical  routine.  .  .  .  Wait  a  moment;  there  is  no 
body  else  to  say  this  to  you;  and  if  I  did  not  love 
you  I  would  not  interfere  with  this  great  mistake  you 
are  so  honestly  making  of  your  life,  and  which,  per 
haps,  is  the  only  comfort  left  you.  I  say,  '  perhaps,' 
for  I  do  not  believe  that  life  holds  nothing  happier 
for  you  than  the  sullen  content  of  martyrdom." 

"Nina!" 

"  I  am  right !  "  she  said,  almost  fiercely ;  "  I've 
been  married  thirteen  years  and  I've  lost  that  fear  of 
men's  portentous  judgments  which  all  girls  outgrow 
one  day.  And  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  acquiesce 
in  this  attitude  of  yours  toward  life?  Do  you  think 
I  can't  distinguish  between  a  tragical  mistake  and  a 
mistaken  tragedy?  I  tell  you  your  life  is  not  fin 
ished  ;  it  is  not  yet  begun !  " 

He  looked  at  her,  incensed ;  but  she  sprang  to  the 
floor,  her  face  bright  with  colour,  her  eyes  clear,  de 
termined  :  "  I  thought,  when  you  took  the  oath  of 
military  service,  you  swore  to  obey  the  laws  of  the 
land?  And  the  very  first  law  that  interferes  with  your 
preconceived  notions — crack! — you  say  it's  not  for 
you!  Look  at  me — you  great,  big,  wise  brother  of 
mine — who  knows  enough  to  march  a  hundred  and 
three  men  into  battle,  but  not  enough  to  know  where 
pride  begins  and  conscience  ends.  You're  badly  hurt ; 
you  are  deeply  humiliated  over  your  resignation ;  you 
believe  that  ambition  for  a  career,  for  happiness,  for 
marriage,  and  for  children  is  ended  for  you.  You 
need  fresh  air — and  I'm  going  to  see  you  have  it. 
You  need  new  duties,  new  faces,  new  scenes,  new  prob 
lems.  You  shall  have  them.  Dear,  believe  me,  few 
men  as  young  as  you — as  attractive,  as  human,  as 

27 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


lovable,  as  affectionate  as  you,  wilfully  ruin  their  lives 
because  of  a  hurt  pride  which  they  mistake  for  con 
science.  You  will  understand  that  when  you  become 
convalescent.  Now  kiss  me  and  tell  me  you're  much 
obliged — for  I  hear  Austin's  voice  on  the  stairs." 

He  held  her  at  arms'  length,  gazing  at  her,  half 
amused,  half  indignant;  then,  unbidden,  a  second  flash 
of  the  old  telepathy  passed  between  them — a  pale  glim 
mer  lighted  his  own  dark  heart  in  sympathy;  and 
for  a  moment  he  seemed  to  have  a  brief  glimpse  of  the 
truth;  and  the  truth  was  not  as  he  had  imagined  it. 
But  it  was  a  glimpse  only — a  fleeting  suspicion  of 
his  own  fallibility;  then  it  vanished  into  the  old,  dull, 
aching,  obstinate  humiliation.  For  truth  would  not  be 
truth  if  it  were  so  easily  discovered. 

"  Well,  we've  buried  it  now,"  breathed  Selwyn. 
"  You're  all  right,  Nina — from  your  own  standpoint — 
and  I'm  not  going  to  make  a  stalking  nuisance  of 
myself ;  no  fear,  little  sister.  Hello !  " — turning  swiftly 
— "  here's  that  preposterous  husband  of  yours." 

They  exchanged  a  firm  hand  clasp ;  Austin  Gerard, 
big,  smooth  shaven,  humorously  inclined  toward  the 
ruddy  heaviness  of  successful  middle  age ;  Selwyn,  lean, 
bronzed,  erect,  and  direct  in  all  the  powerful  sym 
metry  and  perfect  health  of  a  man  within  sight  of 
maturity. 

"  Hail  to  the  chief — et  cetera,"  said  Austin,  in  his 
large,  bantering  voice.  "  Glad  to  see  you  home,  my 
bolo-punctured  soldier  boy.  Welcome  to  our  city! 
I  suppose  you've  both  pockets  stuffed  with  loot,  now 
haven't  you? — pearls  and  sarongs  and  dattos — yes? 
Have  you  inspected  the  kids?  What's  your  opinion 
of  the  Gerard  batallion?  Pretty  fit?  Nina's  com 
manding,  so  it's  up  to  her  if  we  don't  pass  dress 

28 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


parade.  By  the  way,  your  enormous  luggage  is  here 
— consisting  of  one  dinky  trunk  and  a  sword  done  up 
in  chamois  skin." 

"  Nina's  good  enough  to  want  me  for  a  few 
days — "  began  Selwyn,  but  his  big  brother-in-law 
laughed  scornfully : 

"  A  few  days  !  We've  got  you  now !  "  And  to  his 
wife:  "Nina,  I  suppose  I'm  due  to  lean  over  those 
infernal  kids  before  I  can  have  a  minute  with  your 
brother.  Are  they  in  bed  yet?  All  right,  Phil;  we'll 
be  down  in  a  minute ;  there's  tea  and  things  in  the 
library.  Make  Eileen  give  you  some." 

He  turned,  unaffectedly  taking  his  pretty  wife's 
hand  in  his  large  florid  paw,  and  Selwyn,  intensely 
amused,  saw  them  making  for  the  nursery  absorbed  in 
conjugal  confab.  He  lingered  to  watch  them  go  their 
way,  until  they  disappeared;  and  he  stood  a  moment 
longer  alone  there  in  the  hallway;  then  the  humour 
faded  from  his  sun-burnt  face;  he  swung  wearily  on 
his  heel,  and  descended  the  stairway,  his  hand  heavy 
on  the  velvet  rail. 

The  library  was  large  and  comfortable,  full  of 
agreeably  wadded  corners  and  fat,  helpless  chairs — a 
big,  inviting  place,  solidly  satisfying  in  dull  reds  and 
mahogany.  The  porcelain  of  tea  paraphernalia  caught 
the  glow  of  the  fire ;  a  reading  lamp  burned  on  a  centre 
table,  shedding  subdued  lustre  over  ceiling,  walls,  books, 
and  over  the  floor  where  lay  a  few  ancient  rugs  of 
Beloochistan,  themselves  full  of  mysterious,  sombre  fire. 

Hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  he  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  considering  his  environment  with 
the  grave,  absent  air  habitual  to  him  when  brooding. 
And,  as  he  stood  there,  a  sound  at  the  door  aroused 
him,  and  he  turned  to  confront  a  young  girl  in  hat> 

29 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


veil,  and  furs,  who  was  leisurely  advancing  toward  him, 
stripping  the  gloves  from  a  pair  of  very  white  hands. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Selwyn,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  Eileen  Erroll  and  I  am  commissioned  to  give  you 
some  tea.  Nina  and  Austin  are  in  the  nursery  tell 
ing  bedtime  stories  and  hearing  assorted  prayers.  The 
children  seem  to  be  quite  crazy  about  you — "  She 
unfastened  her  veil,  threw  back  stole  and  coat,  and, 
rolling  up  her  gloves  on  her  wrists,  seated  herself  by 
the  table.  " — Quite  crazy  about  you,"  she  continued, 
"  and  you're  to  be  included  in  bedtime  prayers,  I  be 
lieve — No  sugar?  Lemon? — Drina's  mad  about  you 
and  threatens  to  give  you  her  new  maltese  puppy.  I 
congratulate  you  on  your  popularity." 

"  Did  you  see  me  in  the  nursery  on  all  fours  ?  " 
inquired  Selwyn,  recognising  her  bronze-red  hair. 

Unfeigned  laughter  was  his  answer.  He  laughed, 
too,  not  very  heartily. 

"  My  first  glimpse  of  our  legendary  nursery 
warrior  was  certainly  astonishing,"  she  said,  looking 
around  at  him  with  frank  malice.  Then,  quickly: 
"  But  you  don't  mind,  do  you  ?  It's  all  in  the  family, 
of  course." 

"  Of  course,"  he  agreed  with  good  grace ;  "  no  use 
to  pretend  dignity  here;  you  all  see  through  me  in 
a  few  moments." 

She  had  given  him  his  tea.  Now  she  sat  upright 
in  her  chair,  smiling,  distraite,  her  hat  casting  a  lumi 
nous  shadow  across  her  eyes;  the  fluffy  furs,  fallen 
from  throat  and  shoulder,  settled  loosely  around  her 
waist. 

Glancing  up  from  her  short  reverie  she  encountered 
his  curious  gaze. 

"  To-night  is  to  be  my  first  dinner  dance,  you 
30 


HIS   OWN   PEOPLE 


know,"  she  said.  Faint  tints  of  excitement  stained  her 
white  skin ;  the  vivid  scarlet  contrast  of  her  mouth  was 
almost  startling.  "  On  Thursday  I  was  introduced — " 
she  explained,  "  and  now  I'm  to  have  the  gayest  win 
ter  I  ever  dreamed  of.  .  .  .  And  I'm  going  to  leave 
you  in  a  moment  if  Nina  doesn't  hurry  and  come.  Do 
you  mind?  " 

"  Of  course  I  mind,"  he  protested  amiably,  "  but 
I  suppose  you  wish  to  devote  several  hours  to  dress- 
ing." 

She  nodded.  "  Such  a  dream  of  a  gown !  Nina's 
present!  You'll  see  it.  I  hope  Gerald  will  be  here 
to  see  it.  He  promised.  You'll  say  you  like  it  if 
you  do  like  it,  won't  you?  " 

"  I'll  say  it,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  well — if  you  are  contented  to  be  common 
place  like  other  men " 

"  I've  no  ambition  to  be  different  at  my  age." 

"Your  age?"  she  repeated,  looking  up  quickly. 
"  You  are  as  young  as  Nina,  aren't  you?  Half  the 
men  in  the  younger  set  are  no  younger  than  you — and 
you  know  it,"  she  concluded — "  you  are  only  trying 
to  make  me  say  so — and  you've  succeeded.  I'm  not 
very  experienced  yet.  Does  tea  bring  wisdom,  Captain 
Selwyn  ?  "  pouring  herself  a  cup.  "  I'd  better  arm 
myself  immediately."  She  sank  back  into  the  depths 
of  the  chair,  looking  gaily  at  him  over  her  lifted  cup. 
"  To  my  rapid  education  in  worldly  wisdom !  "  She 
nodded,  and  sipped  the  tea  almost  pensively. 

He  certainly  did  seem  young  there  in  the  firelight, 
his  narrow,  thoroughbred  head  turned  toward  the  fire. 
Youth,  too,  sat  lightly  on  his  shoulders ;  and  it  was 
scarcely  a  noticeably  mature  hand  that  touched  the 
short  sun-burnt  moustache  at  intervals.  From  head 

31 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


to  waist,  from  his  loosely  coupled,  well-made  limbs  to 
his  strong,  slim  foot,  strength  seemed  to  be  the  key 
note  to  a  physical  harmony  most  agreeable  to  look  at. 

The  idea  entered  her  head  that  he  might  appear 
to  advantage  on  horseback. 

"  We  must  ride  together,"  she  said,  returning  her 
teacup  to  the  tray ;  "  if  you  don't  mind  riding 
with  me?  Do  you?  Gerald  never  has  time,  so  I  go 
with  a  groom.  But  if  you  would  care  to  go — "  she 
laughed.  "  Oh,  you  see  I  am  already  beginning  a 
selfish  family  claim  on  you.  I  foresee  that  you'll  be 
very  busy  with  us  all  persistently  tugging  at  your 
coat-sleeves ;  and  what  with  being  civil  to  me  and  a 
martyr  to  Drina,  you'll  have  very  little  time  to  your 
self.  And — I  hope  you'll  like  my  brother  Gerald  when 
you  meet  him.  Now  I  must  go." 

Then,  rising  and  partly  turning  to  collect  her  furs : 

"  It's  quite  exciting  to  have  you  here.  We  will 
be  good  friends,  won't  we?  .  .  .  and  I  think  I  had 
better  stop  my  chatter  and  go,  because  my  cunning 
little  Alsatian  maid  is  not  very  clever  yet.  .  .  .  Good 
bye." 

She  stretched  out  one  of  her  amazingly  white  hands 
across  the  table,  giving  him  a  friendly  leave-taking  and 
welcome  all  in  one  frank  handshake ;  and  left  him 
standing  there,  the  fresh  contact  still  cool  in  his  palm. 

Nina  came  in  presently  to  find  him  seated  before 
the  fire,  one  hand  shading  his  eyes;  and,  as  he  pre 
pared  to  rise,  she  rested  both  arms  on  his  shoulders, 
forcing  him  into  his  chair  again. 

"  So  you've  bewitched  Eileen,  too,  have  you?  "  she 
said  tenderly.  "  Isn't  she  the  sweetest  little  thing?  " 

"  She's — ah — as  tall  as  I  am,"  he  said,  blinking  at 
the  fire. 

32 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


"  She's  only  nineteen ;  pathetically  unspoiled — a 
perfect  dear.  Men  are  going  to  rave  over  her  and — 
not  spoil  her.  Did  you  ever  see  such  hair? — that  thick, 
ruddy,  lustrous,  copper  tint? — and  sometimes  it's  like 
gold  afire.  And  a  skin  like  snow  and  peaches ! — she's 
sound  to  the  core.  I've  had  her  exercised  and  groomed 
and  hardened  and  trained  from  the  very  beginning — 
every  inch  of  her  minutely  cared  for  exactly  like  my  own 
babies.  I've  done  my  best,"  she  concluded  with  a  satis 
fied  sigh,  and  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  her  brother. 

"  Thoroughbred,"  commented  Selwyn,  "  to  be 
turned  out  to-night.  Is  she  bridle-wise  and  intelli- 
gent?" 

"  More  than  sufficiently.  That's  one  trouble — she's 
had,  at  times,  a  depressing,  sponge-like  desire  for  ab 
sorbing  all  sorts  of  irrelevant  things  that  no  girl 
ought  to  concern  herself  with.  I — to  tell  the  truth 
— if  I  had  not  rigorously  drilled  her — she  might 
have  become  a  trifle  tiresome ;  I  don't  mean  precisely 
frumpy — but  one  of  those  earnest  young  things  whose 
intellectual  conversation  becomes  a  visitation  —  one 
of  the  wants-to-know-for-the-sake-of-knowledge  sort — 
a  dreadful  human  blotter !  Oh,  dear ;  show  me  a  girl 
with  her  mind  soaking  up  '  isms  '  and  I'll  show  you 
a  social  failure  with  a  wisp  of  hair  on  her  cheek,  who 
looks  the  dowdier  the  more  expensively  she's  gowned." 

"  So  you  believe  you've  got  that  wisp  of  copper- 
tinted  hair  tucked  up  snugly  ?  "  asked  Selwyn,  amused. 

"  I — it's  still  a  worry  to  me ;  at  intervals  she's  in 
clined  to  let  it  slop.  Thank  Heaven,  I've  made  her 
spine  permanently  straight  and  her  head  is  screwed 
properly  to  her  neck.  There's  not  a  slump  to  her 
from  crown  to  heel — /  know,  you  know.  She's  had 
specialists  to  forestall  every  blemish.  I  made  up  my 

33 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


mind  to  do  it ;  I'm  doing  it  for  my  own  babies.  That's 
what  a  mother  is  for — to  turn  out  her  offspring  to 
the  world  as  flawless  and  wholesome  as  when  they  came 
into  it! — physically  and  mentally  sound — or  a  woman 
betrays  her  stewardship.  They  must  be  as  healthy  of 
body  and  limb  as  they  are  innocent  and  wholesome 
minded.  The  happiest  of  all  creatures  are  drilled  thor 
oughbreds.  Show  me  a  young  girl,  unspoiled  mentally 
and  spiritually  untroubled,  with  a  superb  physique, 
and  I'll  show  you  a  girl  equipped  for  the  happiness  of 
this  world.  And  that  is  what  Eileen  is." 

"  I  should  say,"  observed  Selwyn,  "  that  she's 
equipped  for  the  slaughter  of  man." 

"  Yes,  but  /  am  selecting  the  victim,"  replied  his 
sister  demurely. 

"Oh!    Have  you?    Already?" 

"  Tentatively." 

"Who?" 

"  Sudbury  Gray,  I  think — with  Scott  Innis  for  an 
understudy — perhaps  the  Draymore  man  as  alternate 
— I  don't  know;  there's  time." 

"  Plenty,"  he  said  vaguely,  staring  into  the  fire 
where  a  log  had  collapsed  into  incandescent  ashes. 

She  continued  to  talk  about  Eileen  until  she  no 
ticed  that  his  mind  was  on  other  matters — his  pre 
occupied  stare  enlightened  her.  She  said  nothing  for 
a  while. 

But  he  woke  up  when  Austin  came  in  and  settled 
his  big  body  in  a  chair. 

"  Drina,  the  little  minx,  called  me  back  on  some 
flimsy  pretext,"  he  said,  relighting  his  cigar ;  "  I  for 
got  that  time  was  going — and  she  was  wily  enough  to 
keep  me  talking  until  Miss  Paisely  caught  me  at  it 
and  showed  me  out.  I  tell  you,"  turning  on  Selwyn — 

34. 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


"  children  are  what  make  life  worth  wh — "  He  ceased 
abruptly  at  a  gentle  tap  from  his  wife's  foot,  and 
Selwyn  looked  up. 

Whether  or  not  he  divined  the  interference  he  said 
very  quietly :  "  I'd  rather  have  had  children  than  any 
thing  in  the  world.  They're  about  the  best  there 
is  in  life;  I  agree  with  you,  Austin." 

His  sister,  watching  him  askance,  was  relieved  to 
see  his  troubled  face  become  serene,  though  she  divined 
the  effort. 

"  Kids  are  the  best,"  he  repeated,  smiling  at  her. 
"  Failing  them,  for  second  choice,  I've  taken  to  the 
laboratory.  Some  day  I'll  invent  something  and  aston 
ish  you,  Nina." 

"  We'll  fit  you  up  a  corking  laboratory,"  began 
Austin  cordially ;  "  there  is " 

"  You're  very  good ;  perhaps  you'll  all  be  civil 
enough  to  move  out  of  the  house  if  I  need  more  room 
for  bottles  and  retorts " 

"  Of  course,  Phil  must  have  his  laboratory,"  insisted 
Nina.  "  There's  loads  of  unused  room  in  this  big 
barn — only  you  don't  mind  being  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  do  you,  Phil?" 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  I  want  to  be  in  the  drawing-room — 
or  somewhere  so  that  you  all  may  enjoy  the  odours 
and  get  the  benefit  of  premature  explosions.  Oh,  come 
now,  Austin,  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  plant  myself 
here  on  you " 

"  Don't  notice  him,  Austin,"  said  Nina,  "  he  only 
wishes  to  be  implored.  And,  by  the  same  token,  you'd 
both  better  let  me  implore  you  to  dress !  "  She  rose 
and  bent  forward  in  the  firelight  to  peer  at  the  clock. 
"  Goodness !  Do  you  creatures  think  I'm  going  to 
give  Eileen  half  an  hour's  start  with  her  maid? — and 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I  carrying  my  twelve  years'  handicap,  too.  No,  indeed ! 
I'm  decrepit  but  I'm  going  to  die  fighting.  Austin, 
get  up !  You're  horribly  slow,  anyhow.  Phil,  Austin's 
man — such  as  he  is — will  be  at  your  disposal,  and  your 
luggage  is  unpacked." 

"  Am  I  really  expected  to  grace  this  festival  of 
babes?  "  inquired  Selwyn.  "  Can't  you  send  me  a  tray 
of  toast  or  a  bowl  of  gruel  and  let  me  hide  my  old 
bones  in  a  dressing-gown  somewhere?  " 

"  Oh,  come  on,"  said  Austin,  smothering  the  yawn 
in  his  voice  and  casting  his  cigar  into  the  ashes. 
"  You're  about  ripe  for  the  younger  set — one  of  them, 
anyhow.  If  you  can't  stand  the  intellectual  strain  we'll 
side-step  the  show  later  and  play  a  little — what  do  you 
call  it  in  the  army  ? — pontoons  ?  " 

They  strolled  toward  the  door,  Nina's  arms  linked 
in  theirs,  her  slim  fingers  interlocked  on  her  breast. 

"  We  are  certainly  going  to  be  happy — we  three — 
in  this  innocent  menage  a  trois"  she  said.  "  I  don't 
know  what  more  you  two  men  could  ask  for — or  I, 
either — or  the  children  or  Eileen.  Only  one  thing;  I 
think  it  is  perfectly  horrid  of  Gerald  not  to  be  here." 

Traversing  the  hall  she  said :  "  It  always  frightens 
me  to  be  perfectly  happy — and  remember  all  the 
ghastly  things  that  could  happen.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to 
take  a  glance  at  the  children  before  I  dress.  .  .  .  Aus 
tin,  did  you  remember  your  tonic  ?  " 

She  looked  up  surprised  when  her  husband  laughed. 

"  I've  taken  my  tonic  and  nobody's  kidnapped  the 
kids,"  he  said.  She  hesitated,  then  picking  up  her 
skirts  she  ran  upstairs  for  one  more  look  at  her  slum 
bering  progeny. 

The  two  men  glanced  at  one  another;  their  silence 
was  the  tolerant,  amused  silence  of  the  wiser  sex,  pos- 

36 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


ing  as  such  for  each  other's  benefit;  but  deep  under 
the  surface  stirred  the  tremors  of  the  same  instinctive 
solicitude  that  had  sent  Nina  to  the  nursery. 

"I  used  to  think,"  said  Gerard,  "that  the  more 
kids  you  had  the  less  anxiety  per  kid.  The  contrary 
is  true;  you're  more  nervous  over  half  a  dozen  than 
you  are  over  one,  and  your  wife  is  always  going  to 
the  nursery  to  see  that  the  cat  hasn't  got  in  or  the 
place  isn't  afire  or  spots  haven't  come  out  all  over  the 
children." 

They  laughed  tolerantly,  lingering  on  the  sill  of 
Selwyn's  bedroom. 

"  Come  in  and  smoke  a  cigarette,"  suggested  the 
latter.  "  I  have  nothing  to  do  except  to  write  some 
letters  and  dress." 

But  Gerard  said :  "  There  seems  to  be  a  draught 
through  this  hallway;  I'll  just  step  upstairs  to  be  sure 
that  the  nursery  windows  are  not  too  wide  open.  See 
you  later,  Phil.  If  there's  anything  you  need  just 
dingle  that  bell." 

And  he  went  away  upstairs,  only  to  return  in  a 
few  minutes,  laughing  under  his  breath :  "  I  say,  Phil, 
don't  you  want  to  see  the  kids  asleep?  Billy's  flat  on 
his  back  with  a  white  i  Teddy  bear  '  in  either  arm ;  and 
Drina  and  Josephine  are  rolled  up  like  two  kittens  in 
pajamas;  and  you  should  see  Winthrop's  legs " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Selwyn  gravely,  "  I'll  be  with 
you  in  a  second." 

And  turning  to  his  dresser  he  laid  away  the  letters 
and  the  small  photograph  which  he  had  been  examin 
ing  under  the  drop-light,  locking  them  securely  in  the 
worn  despatch  box  until  he  should  have  time  to  decide 
whether  to  burn  them  all  or  only  the  picture.  Then 
he  slipped  on  his  smoking  jacket. 

37 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


" — Ah,  about  Winthrop's  legs — "  he  repeated 
vaguely,  "  certainly ;  I  should  be  very  glad  to  examine 
them,  Austin." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  examine  them,"  retorted 
Gerard  resentfully,  "  I  want  you  to  see  them.  There's 
nothing  the  matter  with  them,  you  understand." 

"  Exactly,"  nodded  Selwyn,  following  his  big 
brother-in-law  into  the  hall,  where,  from  beside  a  lamp- 
lit  sewing  table  a  trim  maid  rose  smiling: 

"  Miss  Erroll  desires  to  know  whether  Captain  Sel 
wyn  would  care  to  see  her  gown  when  she  is  ready  to 
go  down?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Selwyn,  "  I  should  like  to  see 
that,  too.  Will  you  let  me  know  when  Miss  Erroll  is 
ready?  Thank  you." 

Austin  said  as  they  reached  the  nursery  door: 
"  Funny  thing,  feminine  vanity — almost  pathetic,  isn't 
it?  .  .  .  Don't  make  too  much  noise!  .  .  .  What  do 
you  think  of  that  pair  of  legs,  Phil? — and  he's  not 
yet  five.  .  .  .  And  I  want  you  to  speak  frankly;  did 
you  ever  see  anything  to  beat  that  bunch  of  infants? 
Not  because  they're  ours  and  we  happen  to  be  your 
own  people — "  he  checked  himself  and  the  smile  faded 
as  he  laid  his  big  ruddy  hand  on  Selwyn's  shoulder ; 
— "  your  own  people,  Phil.  Do  you  understand?  .  .  . 
And  if  I  have  not  ventured  to  say  anything  about — 
what  has  happened — you  understand  that,  too,  don't 
you?  You  know  I'm  just  as  loyal  to  you  as  Nina  is 
— as  it  is  natural  and  fitting  that  your  own  people 
should  be.  Only  a  man  finds  it  difficult  to  convey  his — 
his " 

"  Don't  say  4  sympathies  '  !  "  cut  in  Selwyn  ner 
vously. 

"  I  wasn't  going  to,  confound  you !     I  was  going 


HIS   OWN  PEOPLE 


to  say  *  sentiments.'  I'm  sorry  I  said  anything.  Go 
to  the  deuce !  " 

Selwyn  did  not  even  deign  to  glance  around  at  him. 
"  You  big  red-pepper  box,"  he  muttered  affection 
ately,  "  you'll  wake  up  Drina.  Look  at  her  in  her 
cunning  pajamas!  Oh,  but  she  is  a  darling,  Austin. 
And  look  at  that  boy  with  his  two  white  bears!  He's 
a  corker!  He's  a  wonder — honestly,  Austin.  As  for 
that  Josephine  kid  she  can  have  me  on  demand;  I'll 
answer  to  voice,  whistle,  or  hand.  ...  I  say,  ought 
we  to  go  away  and  leave  Winthrop's  thumb  in  his 
mouth?" 

"  I  guess  I  can  get  it  out  without  waking  him," 
whispered  Gerard.  A  moment  later  he  accomplished 
the  office,  leaned  down  and  drew  the  bed-covers  closer 
to  Tina's  dimpled  chin,  then  grasped  Selwyn  above  the 
elbow  in  sudden  alarm :  "  If  that  trained  terror,  Miss 
Paisely,  finds  us  in  here  when  she  comes  from  dinner, 
we'll  both  catch  it!  Come  on;  I'll  turn  off  the  light. 
Anyway,  we  ought  to  have  been  dressed  long  ago;  but 
you  insisted  on  butting  in  here." 

In  the  hallway  below  they  encountered  a  radiant 
and  bewildering  vision  awaiting  them :  Eileen,  in  all  her 
glory. 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  Gerard,  patting  the  vision's 
rounded  bare  arm  as  he  hurried  past — "  fine  gown !  fine 
girl! — but  I've  got  to  dress  and  so  has  Philip — "  He 
meant  well. 

"  Do  you  like  it,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  "  asked  the  girl, 
turning  to  confront  him,  where  he  had  halted.  "  Ger 
ald  isn't  coming  and — I  thought  perhaps  you'd  be 
interested " 

The  formal,  half-patronising  compliment  on  his 
tongue's  tip  remained  there,  unsaid.  He  stood  silent, 
4  39 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


touched  by  the  faint  under-ringing  wistfulness  in  the 
laughing  voice  that  challenged  his  opinion ;  and  some 
thing  within  him  responded  in  time: 

"  Your  gown  is  a  beauty ;  such  wonderful  lace.  Of 
course,  anybody  would  kife^Xit  came  straight  from 
Paris  or  from  some  other  ceJfistial  region " 

"But  it  didn't!"  cried/ the  girl,  delighted.  "It 
looks  it,  doesn't  it?  But  ifiwas  made  by  Letellier!  Is 
there  anything  you  don't/ like  about  it,  Captain  Sel- 
wyn?  Anything?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  saidyjliajemnly ;  "  it  is  as  adorable 
as  the  girl  inside  it,  wli6  makes  it  look  like  a  Parisian 
importation  f  ron£^a>*^ise !  " 

She  colored  eoojiantingly,  and  with  pretty,  frank 
impulse  held  ou\  botMier  hands  to  him: 

"  You  are  a^ear,  Captain  Selwyn !  It  is  my  first 
real  dinner  gownN^ind  I'm  quite  mad  about  it ;  and — 
somehow  I  wjrtited  the  family  to  share  my  madness 
with  me.  Nrqjk  \wdll — she  gave  it  to  me,  the  darling. 
Austin  admiresNrt,  too,  of  course,  but  he  doesn't  no 
tice  such  thjjigs  very  closely ;  and  Gerald  isn't  here. 
.  .  .  Thank  you  for  letting  me  show  it  to  you  before 
I  go  down." 

She  gave  both  his  hands  a  friendly  little  shake 
and,  glancing  down  at  her  skirt  in  blissful  conscious 
ness  of  its  perfection,  stepped  backward  into  her  own 
room. 

Later,  while  he  stood  at  his  dresser  constructing  an 
immaculate  knot  in  his  white  tie,  Nina  knocked. 

"  Hurry,  Phil !  Oh,  may  I  come  in  ?  .  .  .  You 
ought  to  be  downstairs  with  us,  you  know.  .  .  .  And 
it  was  very  sweet  of  you  to  be  so  nice  to  Eileen.  The 
child  had  tears  in  her  eyes  when  I  went  in.  Oh,  just 
a  single  diamond  drop  in  each  eye;  your  sympathy 

40 


HIS    OWN   PEOPLE 


and  interest  did  it.  ...  I  think  the  child  misses  her 
father  on  an  occasion  such  as  this — the  beginning  of 
life — the  first  step  out  into  the  world.  Men  do  not 
understand  what  it  means  to  us ;  Gerald  doesn't,  I'm 
sure.  I've  been  watching  her,  and  I  know  the  shadow 
of  that  dreadful  tragedy  falls  on  her  more  often  than 
Austin  and  I  are  aware  of.  ...  Shall  I  fix  that  tie 
for  you,  dear?  .  .  .  Certainly  I  can;  Austin  won't 
let  a  man  touch  him.  .  .  .  There,  Phil.  .  .  .  Wait ! 
.  .  .  Now  if  you  are  decently  grateful  you'll  tell  me 
I  look  well.  Do  I?  Really?  Nonsense,  I  don't  look 
twenty;  but — say  it,  Phil.  Ah,  that  clever  maid  of 
mine  knows  some  secrets — never  mind! — but  Drina 
thinks  I'm  a  beauty.  .  .  .  Come,  dear;  and  thank  you 
for  being  kind  to  Eileen.  One's  own  kin  counts  so 
much  in  this  world.  And  when  a  girl  has  none,  ex 
cept  a  useless  brother,  little  things  like  that  mean  a 
lot  to  her."  She  turned,  her  hand  falling  on  his 
sleeve.  "  You  are  among  your  own  people,  anyhow !  " 

His  own  people!  The  impatient  tenderness  of  his 
sister's  words  had  been  sounding  in  his  ears  all  through 
the  evening.  They  rang  out  clear  and  insistent  amid 
the  gay  tumult  of  the  dinner ;  he  heard  them  in  the 
laughing  confusion  of  youthful  voices;  they  stole  into 
the  delicate  undertones  of  the  music  to  mock  him;  the 
rustling  of  silk  and  lace  repeated  them ;  the  high  heels 
of  satin  slippers  echoed  them  in  irony. 

His  own  people ! 

The  scent  of  overheated  flowers,  the  sudden  warm 
breeze  eddying  from  a  capricious  fan,  the  mourning 
thrill  of  the  violins  emphasised  the  emphasis  of  the 
words. 

And  they  sounded  sadder  and  more  meaningless 
41 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


now  to  him,  here  in  his  own  room,  until  the  monotony 
of  their  recurrent  mockery  began  to  unnerve  him. 

He  turned  on  the  electricity,  shrank  from  it,  ex 
tinguished  it.  And  for  a  long  time  he  sat  there  in 
the  darkness  of  early  morning,  his  unfilled  pipe  clutched 
in  his  nerveless  hand. 


CHAPTER    II 

A    DREAM    ENDS 

To  pick  up  once  more  and  tighten  and  knot  to 
gether  the  loosened  threads  which  represented  the  un 
finished  record  that  his  race  had  woven  into  the  social 
fabric  of  the  metropolis  was  merely  an  automatic  matter 
for  Selwyn. 

His  own  people  had  always  been  among  the  makers 
of  that  fabric.  Into  part  of  its  vast  and  intricate 
pattern  they  had  woven  an  inconspicuously  honourable 
record — chronicles  of  births  and  deaths  and  marriages, 
a  plain  memorandum  of  plain  living,  and  upright  deal 
ing  with  their  fellow  men. 

Some  public  service  of  modest  nature  they  had  per 
formed,  not  seeking  it,  not  shirking;  accomplishing  it 
cleanly  when  it  was  intrusted  to  them. 

His  forefathers  had  been,  as  a  rule,  professional 
men — physicians  and  lawyers ;  his  grandfather  died 
under  the  walls  of  Chapultepec  Castle  while  twisting 
a  tourniquet  for  a  cursing  dragoon ;  an  uncle  remained 
indefinitely  at  Malvern  Hill;  an  only  brother  at  Mon- 
tauk  Point  having  sickened  in  the  trenches  before 
Santiago. 

His  father's  services  as  division  medical  officer  in 
Sheridan's  cavalry  had  been,  perhaps,  no  more  devoted, 
no  more  loyal  than  the  services  of  thousands  of  officers 
and  troopers ;  and  his  reward  was  a  pension  offer,  de- 

43 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


clined.  He  practised  until  his  wife  died,  then  retired 
to  his  country  home,  from  which  house  his  daughter 
Nina  was  married  to  Austin  Gerard. 

Mr.  Selwyn,  senior,  continued  to  pay  his  taxes  on 
his  father's  house  in  Tenth  Street,  voted  in  that  dis 
trict,  spent  a  month  every  year  with  the  Gerards,  read 
a  Republican  morning  newspaper,  and  judiciously  en 
larged  the  family  reservation  in  Greenwood — whither 
he  retired,  in  due  time,  without  other  ostentation  than 
half  a  column  in  the  Evening  Post,  which  paper  he  had, 
in  life,  avoided. 

The  first  gun  off  the  Florida  Keys  sent  Selwyn's 
only  brother  from  his  law  office  in  hot  haste  to  San 
Antonio — the  first  etape  on  his  first  and  last  campaign 
with  Wood's  cavalry. 

That  same  gun  interrupted  Selwyn's  connection 
with  Neergard  &  Co.,  operators  in  Long  Island  real 
estate ;  and,  a  year  later,  the  captaincy  offered  him  in 
a  Western  volunteer  regiment  operating  on  the  Island 
of  Leyte,  completed  the  rupture. 

And  now  he  was  back  again,  a  chance  career  ended, 
with  option  of  picking  up  the  severed  threads — his  in 
heritance  at  the  loom — and  of  retying  them,  warp  and 
weft,  and  continuing  the  pattern  according  to  the  de 
signs  of  the  tufted,  tinted  pile-yarn,  knotted  in  by  his 
ancestors  before  him. 

There  was  nothing  else  to  do ;  so  he  did  it.  Civil 
and  certain  social  obligations  were  mechanically  reas- 
sumed;  he  appeared  in  his  sister's  pew  for  worship,  he 
reenrolled  in  his  clubs  as  a  resident  member  once  more; 
the  directors  of  such  charities  as  he  meddled  with  he 
notified  of  his  return ;  he  remitted  his  dues  to  the  vari 
ous  museums  and  municipal  or  private  organisations 

44 


A    DREAM    ENDS 


which  had  always  expected  support  from  his  family; 
he  subscribed  to  the  Sun. 

He  was  more  conservative,  however,  in  mending  the 
purely  social  strands  so  long  relaxed  or  severed.  The 
various  registers  and  blue-books  recorded  his  residence 
under  "  dilatory  domiciles  " ;  he  did  not  subscribe  to 
the  opera,  preferring  to  chance  it  in  case  harmony- 
hunger  attacked  him ;  pre-Yuletide  functions  he  dodged, 
considering  that  his  sister's  days  in  January  and  at 
tendance  at  other  family  formalities  were  sufficient. 

Meanwhile  he  was  looking  for  two  things — an  apart 
ment  and  a  job — the  first  energetically  combated  by 
his  immediate  family. 

It  was  rather  odd — the  scarcity  of  jobs.  Of  course 
Austin  offered  him  one  which  Selwyn  declined  at  once, 
comfortably  enraging  his  brother-in-law  for  nearly  ten 
minutes. 

"  But  what  do  I  know  about  the  investment  of 
trust  funds  ?  "  demanded  Selwyn ;  "  you  wouldn't  take 
me  if  I  were  not  your  wife's  brother — and  that's 
nepotism." 

Austin's  harmless  fury  raged  for  nearly  ten  min 
utes,  after  which  he  cheered  up,  relighted  his  cigar, 
and  resumed  his  discussion  with  Selwyn  concerning  the 
merits  of  various  boys'  schools — the  victim  in  prospec 
tive  being  Billy. 

A  little  later,  reverting  to  the  subject  of  his  own 
enforced  idleness,  Selwyn  said :  "  I've  been  on  the  point 
of  going  to  see  Neergard — but  somehow  I  can't  quite 
bring  myself  to  it — slinking  into  his  office  as  a  rank 
failure  in  one  profession,  to  ask  him  if  he  has  any  use 
for  me  again." 

"  Stuff  and  fancy !  "  growled  Gerard ;  "  it's  all 
stuff  and  fancy  about  your  being  any  kind  of  a  failure. 

45 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


If  you  want  to  resume  with  that  Dutchman,  go  to  him 
and  say  so.  If  you  want  to  invest  anything  in  his 
Long  Island  schemes  he'll  take  you  in  fast  enough. 
He  took  in  Gerald  and  some  twenty  thousand." 

"  Isn't  he  very  prosperous,  Austin  ?  " 

"  Very — on  paper.  Long  Island  farm  lands  and 
mortgages  on  Hampton  hen-coops  are  not  fragrant 
propositions  to  me.  But  there's  always  one  more  way 
of  making  a  living  after  you  counted  'em  all  up  on 
your  fingers.  If  you've  any  capital  to  offer  Neergard, 
he  won't  shriek  for  help." 

"  But  isn't  suburban  property " 

"On  the  jump?  Yes — both  ways.  Oh,  I  suppose 
that  Neergard  is  all  right — if  he  wasn't  I  wouldn't 
have  permitted  Gerald  to  go  into  it.  Neergard  sticks 
to  his  commissions  and  doesn't  back  his  fancy  in  cer 
tified  checks.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  he  operates; 
I  only  know  that  we  find  nothing  in  that  sort  of  thing 
for  our  own  account.  But  Fane,  Harmon  &  Co.  do. 
That's  their  affair,  too;  it's  all  a  matter  of  taste,  I 
tell  you." 

Selwyn  reflected :  "  I  believe  I'd  go  and  see  Neer 
gard  if  I  were  perfectly  sure  of  my  personal  sentiments 
toward  him.  .  .  .  He's  been  civil  enough  to  me,  of 
course,  but  I  have  always  had  a  curious  feeling  about 
Neergard — that  he's  for  ever  on  the  edge  of  doing 
something — doubtful " 

"  His  business  reputation  is  all  right.  He  shaves 
the  dead  line  like  a  safety  razor,  but  he's  never  yet  cut 
through  it.  On  principle,  however,  look  out  for  an 
apple-faced  Dutchman  with  a  thin  nose  and  no  lips. 
Neither  Jew,  Yankee,  nor  American  stands  any  chance 
in  a  deal  with  that  type  of  financier.  Personally  my 
feeling  is  this:  if  I've  got  to  play  games  with  Julius 

46 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


Neergard,  I'd  prefer  to  be  his  partner.  And  so  I  told 
Gerald.  By  the  way " 

Austin  checked  himself,  looked  down  at  his  cigar, 
turned  it  over  and  over  several  times,  then  continued 
quietly : 

— "  By  the  way,  I  suppose  Gerald  is  like  other 
young  men  of  his  age  and  times — immersed  in  his  own 
affairs — thoughtless  perhaps,  perhaps  a  trifle  selfish  in 
the  cross-country  gallop  after  pleasure.  ...  I  was 
rather  severe  with  him  about  his  neglect  of  his  sister. 
He  ought  to  have  come  here  to  pay  his  respects  to  you, 

"  Oh,  don't  put  such  notions  into  his  head " 

"  Yes,  I  will !  "  insisted  Austin ;  "  however  indiffer 
ent  and  thoughtless  and  selfish  he  is  to  other  people, 
he's  got  to  be  considerate  toward  his  own  family.  And 
I  told  him  so.  Have  you  seen  him  lately  ?  " 

"  N-o,"  admitted  Selwyn. 

"  Not  since  that  first  time  when  he  came  to  do  the 
civil  by  you  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  don't " 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  repeated  his  brother-in-law ;  "  and 
I'm  going  to  have  a  thorough  explanation  with  him 
and  learn  what  he's  up  to.  He's  got  to  be  decent  to 
his  sister ;  he  ought  to  report  to  me  occasionally ;  that's 
all  there  is  to  it.  He  has  entirely  too  much  liberty 
with  his  bachelor  quarters  and  his  junior  whipper- 
snapper  club,  and  his  house  parties  and  his  cruises  on 
Neergard's  boat !  " 

He  got  up,  casting  his  cigar  from  him,  and  moved 
about  bulkily,  muttering  of  matters  to  be  regulated, 
and  firmly,  too.  But  Selwyn,  looking  out  of  the  win 
dow  across  the  Park,  knew  perfectly  well  that  young 
Erroll,  now  of  age,  with  a  small  portion  of  his  hand- 

47 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


some  income  at  his  mercy,  was  past  the  regulating 
stage  and  beyond  the  authority  of  Austin.  There  was 
no  harm  in  him;  he  was  simply  a  joyous,  pleasure- 
loving  cub,  chock  full  of  energetic  instincts,  good  and 
bad,  right  and  wrong,  out  of  which,  formed  from  the 
acts  which  become  habits,  character  matures.  This  was 
his  estimate  of  Gerald. 

The  next  morning,  riding  in  the  Park  with  Eileen, 
he  found  a  chance  to  speak  cordially  of  her  brother. 

"  I've  meant  to  look  up  Gerald,"  he  said,  as  though 
the  neglect  were  his  own  fault,  "  but  every  time  some 
thing  happens  to  switch  me  on  to  another  track." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  I  do  a  great  deal  of  the  switch 
ing,"  she  said;  "  don't  I?  But  you've  been  so  nice  to 
me  and  to  the  children  that " 

Miss  Erroll's  horse  was  behaving  badly,  and  for  a 
few  moments  she  became  too  thoroughly  occupied  with 
her  mount  to  finish  her  sentence. 

The  belted  groom  galloped  up,  prepared  for  emer 
gencies,  and  he  and  Selwyn  sat  their  saddles  watching 
a  pretty  battle  for  mastery  between  a  beautiful  horse 
determined  to  be  bad  and  a  very  determined  young  girl 
who  had  decided  he  was  going  to  be  good. 

Once  or  twice  the  excitement  of  solicitude  sent  the 
colour  flying  into  Selwyn's  temples ;  the  bridle-path  was 
narrow  and  stiff  with  freezing  sand,  and  the  trees  were 
too  near  for  such  lively  manoeuvres;  but  Miss  Erroll 
had  made  up  her  mind— and  Selwyn  already  had  a  hu 
morous  idea  that  this  was  no  light  matter.  The  horse 
found  it  serious  enough,  too,  and  suddenly  concluded 
to  be  good.  And  the  pretty  scene  ended  so  abruptly 
that  Selwyn  laughed  aloud  as  he  rejoined  her: 

"  There  was  a  man — '  Boots  '  Lansing — in  Ban- 
48 


A    DREAM    ENDS 


nard's  command.  One  night  on  Samar  the  bolo-men 
rushed  us,  and  Lansing  got  into  the  six-foot  major's 
boots  by  mistake — seven-leaguers,  you  know — and  his 
horse  bucked  him  clean  out  of  them." 

"  Hence  his  Christian  name,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
girl ;  "  but  why  such  a  story,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  I  be 
lieve  I  stuck  to  my  saddle?  " 

"  With  both  hands,"  he  said  cordially,  always  alert 
to  plague  her.  For  she  was  adorable  when  teased — 
especially  in  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance,  be 
fore  she  had  found  out  that  it  was  a  habit  of  his — and 
her  bright  confusion  always  delighted  him  into  further 
mischief. 

"  But  I  wasn't  a  bit  worried,"  he  continued ;  "  you 
had  him  so  firmly  around  the  neck.  Besides,  what  horse 
or  man  could  resist  such  a  pleading  pair  of  arms  around 
the  neck?" 

"  What  you  saw,"  she  said,  flushing  up,  "  is  exactly 
the  way  I  shall  do  any  pleading  with  the  two  animals 
you  mention." 

"  Spur  and  curb  and  thrash  us  ?     Oh,  my  !  " 

"  Not  if  you're  bridle-wise,  Captain  Selwyn,"  she 
returned  sweetly.  "  And  you  know  you  always  are. 
And  sometimes  " — she  crossed  her  crop  and  looked 
around  at  him  reflectively — "  sometimes,  do  you  know, 
I  am  almost  afraid  that  you  are  so  very,  very  good, 
that  perhaps  you  are  becoming  almost  goody-good." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed  indignantly;  but  his  only 
answer  was  her  head  thrown  back  and  a  ripple  of  en 
chanting  laughter. 

Later  she  remarked:  "It's  just  as  Nina  says,  after 
all,  isn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  replied  suspiciously;  "what?" 

"  That  Gerald  isn't  really  very  wicked,  but  he  likes 
49 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


to  have  us  think  so.  It's  a  sign  of  extreme  self-con 
sciousness,  isn't  it,"  she  added  innocently,  "  when  a  man 
is  afraid  that  a  woman  thinks  he  is  very,  very  good?  " 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  is  the  limit.  I'm  going  to  ride 
by  myself." 

Her  pleasure  in  Selwyn's  society  had  gradually  be 
come  such  genuine  pleasure,  her  confidence  in  his  kind 
ness  so  unaffectedly  sincere,  that,  insensibly,  she  had 
fallen  into  something  of  his  manner  of  badinage — espe 
cially  since  she  realised  how  much  amusement  he  found 
in  her  own  smiling  confusion  when  unexpectedly  as 
sailed.  Also,  to  her  surprise,  she  found  that  he  could 
be  plagued  very  easily,  though  she  did  not  quite  dare 
to  at  first,  in  view  of  his  impressive  years  and  expe 
rience. 

But  once  goaded  to  it,  she  was  astonished  to  find 
how  suddenly  it  seemed  to  readjust  their  personal  re 
lations — years  and  experience  falling  from  his  shoulders 
like  a  cloak  which  had  concealed  a  man  very  nearly  her 
own  age;  years  and  experience  adding  themselves  to 
her,  and  at  least  an  inch  to  her  stature  to  redress  the 
balance  between  them. 

It  had  amused  him  immensely  as  he  realised  the 
subtle  change ;  and  it  pleased  him,  too,  because  no  man 
of  thirty-five  cares  to  be  treated  en  grandpere  by  a  girl 
of  nineteen,  even  if  she  has  not  yet  worn  the  polish 
from  her  first  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes. 

"  It's  astonishing,"  he  said,  "  how  little  respect  in 
firmity  and  age  command  in  these  days." 

"  I  do  respect  you,"  she  insisted,  "  especially  your 
infirmity  of  purpose.  You  said  you  were  going  to  ride 
by  yourself.  But,  do  you  know,  I  don't  believe  you 
are  of  a  particularly  solitary  disposition ;  are  you  ?  " 

He  laughed  at  first,  then  suddenly  his  face  fell. 
50 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


"  Not  from  choice,"  he  said,  under  his  breath.  Her 
quick  ear  heard,  and  she  turned,  semi-serious,  question 
ing  him  with  raised  eyebrows. 

"  Nothing;  I  was  just  muttering.  I've  a  villainous 
habit  of  muttering  mushy  nothings " 

"  You  did  say  something !  " 

"  No ;  only  ghoulish  gabble ;  the  mere  murky  mouth- 
ings  of  a  meagre  mind." 

"  You  did.  It's  rude  not  to  repeat  it  when  I  ask 
you." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude." 

"  Then  repeat  what  you  said  to  yourself." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to?"  he  asked,  raising  his  eyes 
so  gravely  that  the  smile  faded  from  lip  and  voice  when 
she  answered :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain  Selwyn. 
I  did  not  know  you  were  serious." 

"Oh,  I'm  not,"  he  returned  lightly,  "I'm  never 
serious.  No  man  who  soliloquises  can  be  taken  seri 
ously.  Don't  you  know,  Miss  Erroll,  that  the  crowning 
absurdity  of  all  tragedy  is  the  soliloquy  ?  " 

Her  smile  became  delightfully  uncertain;  she  did 
not  quite  understand  him — though  her  instinct  warned 
her  that,  for  a  second,  something  had  menaced  their 
understanding. 

Riding  forward  with  him  through  the  crisp  sun 
shine  of  mid-December,  the  word  "  tragedy  "  still  sound 
ing  in  her  ears,  her  thoughts  reverted  naturally  to  the 
only  tragedy  besides  her  own  which  had  ever  come  very 
near  to  her — his  own. 

Could  he  have  meant  that?  Did  people  mention 
such  things  after  they  had  happened?  Did  they  not 
rather  conceal  them,  hide  them  deeper  and  deeper  with 
the  aid  of  time  and  the  kindly  years  for  a  burial  past 
all  recollection? 

51 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Troubled,  uncomfortably  intent  on  evading  every 
thought  or  train  of  ideas  evoked,  she  put  her  mount 
to  a  gallop.  But  thought  kept  pace  with  her. 

She  was,  of  course,  aware  of  the  situation  regard 
ing  Selwyn's  domestic  affairs;  she  could  not  very  well 
have  been  kept  long  in  ignorance  of  the  facts ;  so  Nina 
had  told  her  carefully,  leaving  in  the  young  girl's  mind 
only  a  bewildered  sympathy  for  man  and  wife  whom  a 
dreadful  and  incomprehensible  catastrophe  had  over 
taken  ;  only  an  impression  of  something  new  and  fear 
some  which  she  had  hitherto  been  unaware  of  in  the 
world,  and  which  was  to  be  added  to  her  small  but, 
unhappily,  growing  list  of  sad  and  incredible  things. 

The  finality  of  the  affair,  according  to  Nina,  was 
what  had  seemed  to  her  the  most  distressing — as  though 
those  two  were  already  dead  people.  She  was  unable  to 
understand  it.  Could  no  glimmer  of  hope  remain  that, 
in  that  magic  "  some  day  "  of  all  young  minds,  the  evil 
mystery  might  dissolve?  Could  there  be  no  living 
"  happily  ever  after  "  in  the  wake  of  such  a  storm  ? 
She  had  managed  to  hope  for  that,  and  believe  in  it. 

Then,  in  some  way,  the  news  of  Alixe's  marriage  to 
Ruthven  filtered  through  the  family  silence.  She  had 
gone  straight  to  Nina,  horrified,  unbelieving.  And, 
when  the  long,  tender,  intimate  interview  was  over,  an 
other  unhappy  truth,  very  gently  revealed,  was  added 
to  the  growing  list  already  learned  by  this  young 
girl. 

Then  Selwyn  came.  She  had  already  learned  some 
thing  of  the  world's  customs  and  manners  before  his 
advent ;  she  had  learned  more  since  his  advent ;  and  she 
was  learning  something  else,  too — to  understand  how 
happily  ignorant  of  many  matters  she  had  been,  had 
better  be,  and  had  best  remain.  And  she  harboured  no 

52 


A    DREAM    ENDS 


malsane  desire  to  know  more  than  was  necessary,  and 
every  innocent  instinct  to  preserve  her  ignorance  intact 
as  long  as  the  world  permitted. 

As  for  the  man  riding  there  at  her  side,  his  prob 
lem  was  simple  enough  as  he  summed  it  up :  to  face  the 
world,  however  it  might  chance  to  spin,  that  small, 
ridiculous,  haphazard  world  rattling  like  a  rickety  rou 
lette  ball  among  the  numbered  nights  and  days  where 
he  had  no  longer  any  vital  stake  at  hazard — no  longer 
any  chance  to  win  or  lose. 

This  was  an  unstable  state  of  mind,  particularly 
as  he  had  not  yet  destroyed  the  photograph  which  he 
kept  locked  in  his  despatch  box.  He  had  not  returned 
it,  either;  it  was  too  late  by  several  months  to  do  that, 
but  he  was  still  fool  enough  to  consider  the  idea  at 
moments — sometimes  after  a  nursery  romp  with  the 
children,  or  after  a  good-night  kiss  from  Drina  on  the 
lamp-lit  landing,  or  when  some  commonplace  episode  of 
the  domesticity  around  him  hurt  him,  cutting  him  to 
the  quick  with  its  very  simplicity,  as  when  Nina's 
hand  fell  naturally  into  Austin's  on  their  way  to  "  lean 
over  "  the  children  at  bedtime,  or  their  frank  absorp 
tion  in  conjugal  discussion  to  his  own  exclusion  as  he 
sat  brooding  by  the  embers  in  the  library. 

"  I'm  like  a  dead  man  at  times,"  he  said  to  him 
self  ;  "  nothing  to  expect  of  a  man  who  is  done  for ; 
and  worst  of  all,  I  no  longer  expect  anything  of 
myself."^ 

This  was  sufficiently  morbid,  and  he  usually  proved 
it  by  going  early  to  his  own  quarters,  where  dawn  some 
times  surprised  him  asleep  in  his  chair,  white  and  worn, 
all  the  youth  in  his  hollow  face  extinct,  his  wife's  pic 
ture  fallen  face  downward  on  the  floor. 

But  he  always  picked  it  up  again  when  he  awoke, 
53 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  carefully   dusted  it,  too,  even  when  half  stupefied 
with  sleep. 

Returning  from  their  gallop,  Miss  Erroll  had  very 
little  to  say.  Selwyn,  too,  was  silent  and  absent-minded. 
The  girl  glanced  furtively  at  him  from  time  to  time, 
not  at  all  enlightened.  Man,  naturally,  was  to  her  an 
unknown  quantity.  In  fact  she  had  no  reason  to  sus 
pect  him  of  being  anything  more  intricate  than  the 
platitudinous  dance  or  dinner  partner  in  black  and 
white,  or  any  frock-coated  entity  in  the  afternoon,  or 
any  flannelled  individual  at  the  nets  or  on  the  links  or 
cantering  about  the  veranda  of  club,  casino,  or  cottage, 
in  evident  anxiety  to  be  considerate  and  agreeable. 

This  one,  however,  appeared  to  have  individual 
peculiarities ;  he  differed  from  his  brother  Caucasians, 
who  should  all  resemble  one  another  to  any  normal  girl. 
For  one  thing  he  was  subject  to  illogical  moods — ap 
parently  not  caring  whether  she  noticed  them  or  not. 
For  another,  he  permitted  himself  the  liberty  of  long 
and  unreasonable  silences  whenever  he  pleased.  This 
she  had  accepted  unquestioningly  in  the  early  days 
when  she  was  a  little  in  awe  of  him,  when  the  dis 
crepancy  of  their  ages  and  experiences  had  not  been 
dissipated  by  her  first  presumptuous  laughter  at  his 
expense. 

Now  it  puzzled  her,  appearing  as  a  specific  trait 
differentiating  him  from  Man  in  the  abstract. 

He  had  another  trick,  too,  of  retiring  within  him 
self,  even  when  smiling  at  her  sallies  or  banteringly 
evading  her  challenge  to  a  duel  of  wits.  At  such  times 
he  no  longer  looked  very  young;  she  had  noticed  that 
more  than  once.  He  looked  old,  and  ill-tempered. 

Perhaps  some  sorrow — the  actuality  being  vague  in 
54 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


her  mind;  perhaps  some  hidden  suffering — but  she 
learned  that  he  had  never  been  wounded  in  battle  and 
had  never  even  had  measles. 

The  sudden  sullen  pallor,  the  capricious  fits  of 
silent  reserve,  the  smiling  aloofness,  she  never  attributed 
to  the  real  source.  How  could  she?  The  Incompre 
hensible  Thing  was  a  Finality  accomplished  according 
to  law.  And  the  woman  concerned  was  now  another 
man's  wife.  Which  conclusively  proved  that  there 
could  be  no  regret  arising  from  the  Incomprehensible 
Finality,  and  that  nobody  involved  cared,  much  less 
suffered.  Hence  that  was  certainly  not  the  cause  of 
any  erratic  or  specific  phenomena  exhibited  by  this 
sample  of  man  who  differed,  as  she  had  noticed,  some 
what  from  the  rank  and  file  of  his  neutral-tinted 
brothers. 

"  It's  this  particular  specimen,  per  se"  she  con 
cluded ;  "  it's  himself,  sui  generis — just  as  I  happen  to 
have  red  hair.  That  is  all." 

And  she  rode  on  quite  happily,  content,  confident 
of  his  interest  and  kindness.  For  she  had  never  for 
gotten  his  warm  response  to  her  when  she  stood  on 
the  threshold  of  her  first  real  dinner  party,  in  her  first 
real  dinner  gown — a  trivial  incident,  trivial  words ! 
But  they  had  meant  more  to  her  than  any  man  speci 
men  could  understand — including  the  man  who  had 
uttered  them;  and  the  violets,  which  she  found  later 
with  his  card,  must  remain  for  her  ever  after  the  deli 
cately  fragrant  symbol  of  all  he  had  done  for  her  in 
a  solitude,  the  completeness  of  which  she  herself  was 
only  vaguely  beginning  to  realise. 

Thinking  of  this  now,  she  thought  of  her  brother — 
and  the  old  hurt  at  his  absence  on  that  night  throbbed 
again.  Forgive?  Yes.  But  how  could  she  forget  it? 
5  55 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  I  wish  you  knew  Gerald  well,"  she  said  impul 
sively  ;  "  he  is  such  a  dear  fellow ;  and  I  think  you'd 
be  good  for  him — and  besides,"  she  hastened  to  add, 
with  instinctive  loyalty,  lest  he  misconstrue,  "  Gerald 
would  be  good  for  you.  We  were  a  great  deal  together 
— at  one  time." 

He  nodded,  smilingly  attentive. 

"  Of  course  when  he  went  away  to  school  it  was 
different,"  she  added.  "  And  then  he  went  to  Yale ; 
that  was  four  more  years,  you  see." 

"  I  was  a  Yale  man,"  remarked  Selwyn ;  "  did  he — " 
but  he  broke  off  abruptly,  for  he  knew  quite  well  that 
young  Erroll  could  have  made  no  senior  society  with 
out  his  hearing  of  it.  And  he  had  not  heard  of  it — 
not  in  the  cane-brakes  of  Leyte  where,  on  his  sweat- 
soaked  shirt,  a  small  pin  of  heavy  gold  had  clung 
through  many  a  hike  and  many  a  scout  and  by  many  a 
camp-fire  where  the  talk  was  of  home  and  of  the  chances 
of  crews  and  of  quarter-backs. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  ask  me,  Captain  Sel 
wyn  ?  " 

"  Did  he  row — your  brother  Gerald  ?  " 

"No,"  she  said.  She  did  not  add  that  he  had 
broken  training;  that  was  her  own  sorrow,  to  be  con 
cealed  even  from  Gerald.  "  No ;  he  played  polo  some 
times.  He  rides  beautifully,  Captain  Selwyn,  and  he 
is  so  clever  when  he  cares  to  be — at  the  traps,  for  ex 
ample — and — oh — anything.  He  once  swam — oh,  dear, 
I  forget;  was  it  five  or  fifteen  or  fifty  miles?  Is  that 
too  far?  Do  people  swim  those  distances?  " 

"  Some  of  those  distances,"  replied  Selwyn. 

"  Well,  then,  Gerald  swam  some  of  those  distances 
— and  everybody  was  amazed.  ...  I  do  wish  you  knew 
him  well." 

56 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


"  I  mean  to,"  he  said.  "  I  must  look  him  up  at  his 
rooms  or  his  club  or — perhaps — at  Neergard  &  Co." 

"  Will  you  do  this?  "  she  asked,  so  earnestly  that  he 
glanced  up  surprised. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  and  after  a  moment:  "I'll  do  it 
to-day,  I  think;  this  afternoon." 

"  Have  you  time?     You  mustn't  let  me " 

"  Time  ?  "  he  repeated ;  "  I  have  nothing  else,  ex 
cept  a  watch  to  help  me  get  rid  of  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  help  you  get  rid  of  it,  too.  I  heard 
Nina  warning  the  children  to  let  you  alone  occasion 
ally — and  I  suppose  she  meant  that  for  me,  too.  But 
I  only  take  your  mornings,  don't  I?  Nina  is  unrea 
sonable;  I  never  bother  you  in  the  afternoons  or  even 
ings  ;  do  you  know  I  have  not  dined  at  home  for  nearly 
a  month — except  when  we've  asked  people  ?  " 

"Are  you  having  a  good  time?"  he  asked  conde 
scendingly,  but  without  intention. 

"  Heavenly.  How  can  you  ask  that? — with  every 
day  filled  and  a  chance  to  decline  something  every  day. 
If  you'd  only  go  to  one — just  one  of  the  dances  and 
teas  and  dinners,  you'd  be  able  to  see  for  yourself  what 
a  good  time  I  am  having.  ...  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  be  so  delightfully  lucky,  but  everybody  asks  me 
to  dance,  and  every  man  I  meet  is  particularly  nice,  and 
nobody  has  been  very  horrid  to  me;  perhaps  because  I 
like  everybody " 

She  rode  on  beside  him;  they  were  walking  their 
horses  now;  and  as  her  silken-coated  mount  paced  for 
ward  through  the  sunshine  she  sat  at  ease,  straight  as 
a  slender  Amazon  in  her  habit,  ruddy  hair  glistening 
at  the  nape  of  her  neck,  the  scarlet  of  her  lips  always 
a  vivid  contrast  to  that  wonderful  unblemished  skin  of 
snow. 

57 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


He  thought  to  himself,  quite  impersonally :  "  She's 
a  real  beauty,  that  youngster.  No  wonder  they  ask  her 
to  dance  and  nobody  is  horrid.  Men  are  likely  enough 
to  go  quite  mad  about  her  as  Nina  predicts:  probably 
some  of  'em  have  already — that  chuckle-headed  youth 
who  was  there  Tuesday,  gulping  up  the  tea — "  And, 
"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  he  asked  aloud. 

"Whose  name?"  she  inquired,  roused  by  his  voice 
from  smiling  retrospection. 

"  That  chuckle  head — the  young  man  who  con 
tinued  to  haunt  you  so  persistently  when  you  poured 
tea  for  Nina  on  Tuesday.  Of  course  they  all  haunted 
you,"  he  explained  politely,  as  she  shook  her  head  in 
sign  of  non-comprehension ;  "  but  there  was  one  who — 
ah — gulped  at  his  cup." 

"  Please — you  are  rather  dreadful,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  So  was  he ;  I  mean  the  infatuated  chinless 
gentleman  whose  facial  ensemble  remotely  resembled  the 
features  of  a  pleased  and  placid  lizard  of  the  Rep 
tilian  period." 

"  Oh,  George  Fane !  That  is  particularly  disagree 
able  of  you,  Captain  Selwyn,  because  his  wife  has  been 
very  nice  to  me — Rosamund  Fane — and  she  spoke  most 
cordially  of  you " 

"  Which  one  was  she  ?  " 

"  The  Dresden  china  one.  She  looks — she  simply 
cannot  look  as  though  she  were  married.  It's  most 
amusing — for  people  always  take  her  for  somebody's 
youngest  sister  who  will  be  out  next  winter.  .  .  .  Don't 
you  remember  seeing  her?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  there  were  dozens  coming  and 
going  every  minute  whom  I  didn't  know.  Still,  I  be 
haved  well,  didn't  I?" 

"  Pretty  badly — to  Kathleen  Lawn,  whom  you  cor- 
58 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


nered  so  that  she  couldn't  escape  until  her  mother  made 
her  go  without  any  tea." 

"  Was  that  the  reason  that  old  lady  looked  at  me 
so  queerly?  " 

"  Probably.  I  did,  too,  but  you  were  taking  chances, 
not  hints.  .  .  .  She  is  attractive,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Very  fetching,"  he  said,  leaning  down  to  examine 
his  stirrup  leathers  which  he  had  already  lengthened 
twice.  "  I've  got  to  have  Cummins  punch  these  again," 
he  muttered ;  "  or  am  I  growing  queer-legged  in  my 
old  age?" 

As  he  straightened  up,  Miss  Erroll  said :  "  Here 
comes  Mr.  Fane  now — with  a  strikingly  pretty  girl. 
How  beautifully  they  are  mounted  " — smilingly  return 
ing  Fane's  salute — "  and  she — oh !  so  you  do  know  her, 
Captain  Selwyn  ?  Who  is  she  ?  " 

Crop  raised  mechanically  in  dazed  salute,  Selwyn's 
light  touch  on  the  bridle  had  tightened  to  a  nervous 
clutch  which  brought  his  horse  up  sharply. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  drawing  bridle  in  her 
turn  and  looking  back  into  his  white,  stupefied  face. 

"  Pain,"  he  said,  unconscious  0fat  he  spoke.  At 
the  same  instant  the  stunned  eyes  found  their  focus — 
and  found  her  beside  his  stirrup,  leaning  wide  from 
her  seat  in  sweet  concern,  one  gloved  hand  resting  on 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  "  she  asked ;  "  shall  we  dismount  ? 
If  you  feel  dizzy,  please  lean  against  me." 

"  I  am  all  right,"  he  said  coolly ;  and  as  she  recov 
ered  her  seat  he  set  his  horse  in  motion.  His  face  had 
become  very  red  now;  he  looked  at  her,  then  beyond 
her,  with  all  the  deliberate  concentration  of  aloof  in 
difference. 

Confused,  conscious  that  something  had  happened 
59 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


which  she  did  not  comprehend,  and  sensitively  aware  of 
the  preoccupation  which,  if  it  did  not  ignore  her,  ac 
cepted  her  presence  as  of  no  consequence,  she  permitted 
her  horse  to  set  his  own  pace. 

Neither  self-command  nor  self-control  was  lacking 
now  in  Selwyn ;  he  simply  was  too  self-absorbed  to  care 
what  she  thought — whether  she  thought  at  all.  And 
into  his  consciousness,  throbbing  heavily  under  the 
rushing  reaction  from  shock,|5crowded  the  crude  fact 
that  Alixe  was  no  longer  an  apparition  evoked  in  sleep 
lessness,  in  sun-lit  brooding ;  m  the  solitude  of  crowded 
avenues  and  swarming  streefe;  she  was  an  actual  pres 
ence  again  in  his  life — she  jjj^$  here,  bodily,  unchanged 
— unchanged! — for  he  had  conceived  a  strange  idea 
that  she  must  have  jfiiahakd  physically,  that  her  ap 
pearance  had  alteredirib  knew  it  was  a  grotesquely 
senseless  idea,  but  it  crttrfg  to  him,  and  he  had  nursed 
it  unconsciously.  \1 

He  had,  truly  enough,  expected  to  encounter  her 
in  life  again— PS€»newnere ;  though  what  he  had  been 
preparing  to  seebffitaaven  alone  knew ;  but  certainly  not 
the  supple,  laugnMg)  girl  he  had  known — that  smooth, 
slender,  dark-e^ejl,  dainty  visitor  who  had  played  at 
marriage  with  him  through  a  troubled  and  unreal 
dream ;  and  was  gone  when  he  awoke — so  swift  the  brief 
two  years  had  passed,  as  swift  in  sorrow  as  in  happiness. 

Two  vision-tinted  years ! — ended  as  an  hour  ends 
with  the  muffled  chimes  of  a  clock,  leaving  the  air  of 
an  empty  room  vibrant.  Two  years ! — a  swift,  restless 
dream  aglow  with  exotic  colour,  echoing  with  laughter 
and  bugle-call  and  the  noise  of  the  surf  on  Samar  rocks 
— a  dream  through  which  stirred  the  rustle  of  strange 
brocades  and  the  whisper  of  breezes  blowing  over  the 
grasses  of  Leyte;  and  the  light,  dry  report  of  rifles, 

60 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


and  the  shuffle  of  bare  feet  in  darkened  bungalows,  and 
the  whisper  of  dawn  in  Manila  town. 

Two  years ! — wherever  they  came  from,  wherever 
they  had  gone.  And  now,  out  of  the  ghostly,  shadowy 
memory,  behold  her  stepping  into  the  world  again! — 
living,  breathing,  quickening  with  the  fire  of  life  un- 
dimmed  in  her.  And  he  had  seen  the  bright  colour 
spreading  to  her  eyes,  and  the  dark  eyes  widen  to  his 
stare ;  he  had  seen  the  vivid  blush,  the  forced  smile,  the 
nod,  the  voiceless  parting  of  her  stiffened  lips.  Then 
she  was  gone,  leaving  the  whole  world  peopled  with  her 
living  presence  and  the  very  sky  ringing  with  the  words 
her  lips  had  never  uttered,  never  would  utter  while  sun 
and  moon  and  stars  endured. 

Shrinking  from  the  clamouring  tumult  of  his 
thoughts  he  looked  around,  hard-eyed  and  drawn  of 
mouth,  to  find  Miss  Erroll  riding  a  length  in  advance, 
her  gaze  fixed  resolutely  between  her  horse's  ears. 

How  much  had  she  noticed?  How  much  had  she 
divined? — this  straight,  white-throated  young  girl,  with 
her  self-possession  and  her  rounded,  firm  young  figure, 
this  child  with  the  pure,  curved  cheek,  the  clear,  fear 
less  eyes,  untainted,  ignorant,  incredulous  of  shame,  of 
evil. 

Severe,  confident,  untroubled  in  the  freshness  of 
adolescence,  she  rode  on,  straight  before  her,  symbolic 
innocence  leading  the  disillusioned.  And  he  followed, 
hard,  dry  eyes  narrowing,  ever  narrowing  and  flinch 
ing  under  the  smiling  gaze  of  the  dark-eyed,  red- 
mouthed  ghost  that  sat  there  on  his  saddle  bow,  facing 
him,  almost  in  his  very  arms. 

Luncheon  had  not  been  served  when  they  returned. 
Without  lingering  on  the  landing  as  usual,  they  ex- 

61 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


changed  a  formal  word  or  two,  then  Eileen  mounted 
to  her  own  quarters  and  Selwyn  walked  nervously 
through  the  library,  where  he  saw  Nina  evidently  pre 
pared  for  some  mid-day  festivity,  for  she  wore  hat  and 
furs,  and  the  brougham  was  outside. 

"  Oh,  Phil,"  she  said,  "  Eileen  probably  forgot  that 
I  was  going  out ;  it's  a  directors'  luncheon  at  the  ex 
change.  Please  tell  Eileen  that  I  can't  wait  for  her; 
where  is  she?  " 

"  Dressing,  I  suppose.     Nina,  I " 

"  One  moment,  dear.  I  promised  the  children  that 
you  would  lunch  with  them  in  the  nursery.  Do  you 
mind  ?  I  did  it  to  keep  them  quiet ;  I  was  weak  enough 
to  compromise  between  a  fox  hunt  or  fudge;  so  I  said 
you'd  lunch  with  them.  Will  you?  " 

"  Certainly.  .  .  .  And,  Nina — what  sort  of  a  man 
is  this  George  Fane?  " 

"Fane?" 

"  Yes — the  chinless  gentleman  with  gentle  brown 
and  protruding  eyes  and  the  expression  of  a  tame 
brontosaurus." 

"Why — how  do  you  mean,  Phil?  What  sort  of 
man?  He's  a  banker.  He  isn't  very  pretty,  but  he's 
popular." 

"  Oh,  popular !  "  he  nodded,  as  close  to  a  sneer  as 
he  could  ever  get. 

"  He  has  a  very  popular  wife,  too ;  haven't  you  met 
Rosamund?  People  like  him;  he's  about  everywhere — 
very  useful,  very  devoted  to  pretty  women;  but  I'm 
really  in  a  hurry,  Phil.  Won't  you  please  explain  to 
Eileen  that  I  couldn't  wait?  You  and  she  were  almost 
an  hour  late.  Now  I  must  pick  up  my  skirts  and  fly, 
or  there'll  be  some  indignant  dowagers  downtown.  .  .  . 
Good-bye,  dear.  .  .  .  And  don't  let  the  children  eat  too 

62 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


fast !  Make  Drina  take  thirty-six  chews  to  every  bite ; 
and  Winthrop  is  to  have  no  bread  if  he  has  potatoes—" 
Her  voice  dwindled  and  died,  away  through  the  hall ; 
the  front  door  clanged. 

He  went  to  his  quarters,  drove  out  Austin's  man, 
arranged  his  own  fresh  linen,  took  a  sulky  plunge ;  and, 
an  unlighted  cigarette  between  his  teeth,  completed  his 
dressing  in  sullen  introspection. 

When  he  had  tied  his  scarf  and  bitten  his  cigarette 
to  pieces,  he  paced  the  room  once  or  twice,  squared  his 
shoulders,  breathed  deeply,  and,  unbending  his  eye 
brows,  walked  off  to  the  nursery. 

"  Hello,  you  kids !  "  he  said,  with  an  effort.  "  I've 
come  to  luncheon.  Very  nice  of  you  to  want  me, 
Drina." 

"  I  wanted  you,  too !  "  said  Billy ;  "  I'm  to  sit  be 
side  you " 

"  So  am  I,"  observed  Drina,  pushing  Winthrop  out 
of  the  chair  and  sliding  in  close  to  Selwyn.  She  had 
the  cat,  Kit-Ki,  in  her  arms.  Kit-Ki,  divining  nourish 
ment,  was  purring  loudly. 

Josephine  and  Clemence,  in  pinafores  and  stickout 
skirts,  sat  wriggling,  with  Winthrop  between  them; 
the  five  dogs  sat  in  a  row  behind ;  Katie  and  Bridget 
assumed  the  functions  of  Hibernian  Hebes ;  and  lunch 
eon  began  with  a  clatter  of  spoons. 

It  being  also  the  children's  dinner — supper  and 
bed  occurring  from  five  to  six — meat  figured  on  the 
card,  and  Kit-Ki's  purring  increased  to  an  ecstatic 
and  wheezy  squeal,  and  her  rigid  tail,  as  she  stood 
up  on  Drina's  lap,  was  constantly  brushing  Selwyn's 
features. 

"  The  cat  is  shedding,  too,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
dodged  her  caudal  appendage  for  the  twentieth  time; 

63 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  it  will  go  in  with  the  next  spoonful,  Drina,  if  you're 
not  careful  about  opening  your  mouth." 

"I  love  Kit-Ki,"  said  Drina  placidly.  "I  have 
written  a  poem  to  her — where  is  it? — hand  it  to  me, 
Bridget." 

And,  laying  down  her  fork  and  crossing  her  bare 
legs  under  the  table,  Drina  took  breath  and  read 
rapidly : 


"LINES    TO    MY    CAT 

"  Why 

Do  I  love  Kit-Ki 
And  run  after 
Her  with  laughter 
And  rub  her  fur 
So  she  will  purr  ? 
Why  do  I  know 
That  Kit-Ki  loves  me  so  ? 
I  know  it  if 
Her  tail  stands  up  stiff 
And  she  beguiles 
Me  with  smiles — " 

"  Huh !  "  said  Billy,  "  cats  don't  smile !  " 
"  They  do.     When  they  look  pleasant  they  smile," 
said  Drina,  and  continued  reading  from  her  own  works : 

"  Be  kind  in  all 

You  say  and  do 
For  God  made  Kit-Ki 
The  same  as  you. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"ALEXANDRINA  GERARD. 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


She  looked  doubtfully  at  Selwyn.  "  Is  it  all  right 
to  sign  a  poem?  I  believe  that  poets  sign  their  works, 
don't  they,  Uncle  Philip?  " 

"  Certainly.  Drina,  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  for  that 
poem." 

"  You  may  have  it,  anyway,"  said  Drina,  gener 
ously  ;  and,  as  an  after-thought :  "  My  birthday  is  next 
Wednesday." 

"What  a  hint!"  jeered  Billy,  casting  a  morsel  at 
the  dogs. 

"  It  isn't  a  hint.  It  had  nothing  to  do  with  my 
poem,  and  I'll  write  you  several  more,  Uncle  Philip," 
protested  the  child,  cuddling  against  him,  spoon  in 
hand,  and  inadvertently  decorating  his  sleeve  with  cran 
berry  sauce. 

Cat  hairs  and  cranberry  are  a  great  deal  for 
a  man  to  endure,  but  he  gave  Drina  a  reassuring 
hug  and  a  whisper,  and  leaned  back  to  remove  traces 
of  the  affectionate  encounter  just  as  Miss  Erroll 
entered. 

"Oh,  Eileen!  Eileen!"  cried  the  children;  "are 
you  coming  to  luncheon  with  us?" 

As  Selwyn  rose,  she  nodded,  amused. 

"  I  am  rather  hurt,"  she  said.  "  I  went  down  to 
luncheon,  but  as  soon  as  I  heard  where  you  all  were  I 
marched  straight  up  here  to  demand  the  reason  of  my 
ostracism." 

"  We  thought  you  had  gone  with  mother,"  ex 
plained  Drina,  looking  about  for  a  chair. 

Selwyn  brought  it.  "  I  was  commissioned  to  say 
that  Nina  couldn't  wait — dowagers  and  cakes  and  all 
that,  you  know.  Won't  you  sit  down?  It's  rather 
messy  and  the  cat  is  the  guest  of  honour." 

"  We  have  three  guests  of  honour,"  said  Drina ; 
65 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  you,  Eileen,  and  Kit-Ki.  Uncle  Philip,  mother  has 
forbidden  me  to  speak  of  it,  so  I  shall  tell  her  and  be 
punished — but  wouldn't  it  be  splendid  if  Aunt  Alixe 
were  only  here  with  us  ?  " 

Selwyn  turned  sharply,  every  atom  of  colour  gone; 
and  the  child  smiled  up  at  him.  "  Wouldn't  it?"  she 
pleaded. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  so  quietly  that  something  silenced 
the  child.  And  Eileen,  giving  ostentatious  and  un 
divided  attention  to  the  dogs,  was  now  enveloped 
by  snooping,  eager  muzzles  and  frantically  wagging 
tails. 

"  My  lap  is  full  of  paws ! "  she  exclaimed ;  "  take 
them  away,  Katie !  And  oh ! — my  gown,  my  gown ! — 
Billy,  stop  waving  your  tumbler  around  my  face !  If 
you  spill  that  milk  on  me  I  shall  ask  your  Uncle  Philip 
to  put  you  in  the  guard-house ! " 

"  You're  going  to  bolo  us,  aren't  you,  Uncle 
Philip?"  inquired  Billy.  "It's  my  turn  to  be  killed, 
you  remember " 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  Selwyn,  "  that  Miss  Erroll 
is  going  to  play  for  you  to  sing." 

They  liked  that.  The  infant  Gerards  were  musi 
cally  inclined,  and  nothing  pleased  them  better  than  to 
lift  their  voices  in  unison.  Besides,  it  always  distressed 
Kit-Ki,  and  they  never  tired  laughing  to  see  the  un 
happy  cat  retreat  before  the  first  minor  chord  struck 
on  the  piano.  More  than  that,  the  dogs  always  pro 
tested,  noses  pointed  heavenward.  It  meant  noise, 
which  was  always  welcome  in  any  form. 

"Will  you  play,  Miss  Erroll?  "  inquired  Selwyn. 

Miss  Erroll  would  play. 

"Why  do  you  always  call  her  *  Miss  Erroll'?" 
asked  Billy.  "  Why  don't  you  say  '  Eileen  '?  " 

66 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


Selwyn  laughed.  "  I  don't  know,  Billy ;  ask  her ; 
perhaps  she  knows." 

Eileen  laughed,  too,  delicately  embarrassed  and 
aware  of  his  teasing  smile.  But  Drina,  always  im 
pressed  by  formality,  said :  "  Uncle  Philip  isn't  Eileen's 
uncle.  People  who  are  not  relations  say  Miss  and  Mrs." 

"  Are  f aver  and  muwer  relations  ?  "  asked  Jose 
phine  timidly. 

"  Y-es — no ! — I  don't  know,"  admitted  Drina ;  "  are 
they,  Eileen?" 

"  Why,  yes — that  is — that  is  to  say — "  And  turn 
ing  to  Selwyn:  "What  dreadful  questions.  Are  they 
relations,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  Of  course  they  are !  " 

"  They  were  not  before  they  were  married,"  he  said, 
laughing. 

"  If  you  married  Eileen,"  began  Billy,  "  you'd  call 
her  Eileen,  I  suppose." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Selwyn. 

"Why  don't  you?" 

"  That  is  another  thing  you  must  ask  her,  my  son." 

"  Well,  then,  Eileen " 

But  Miss  Erroll  was  already  seated  at  the  nursery 
piano,  and  his  demands  were  drowned  in  a  decisive 
chord  which  brought  the  children  clustering  around  her, 
while  their  nurses  ran  among  them  untying  bibs  and 
scrubbing  faces  and  fingers  in  fresh  water. 

They  sang  like  seraphs,  grouped  around  the  piano, 
fingers  linked  behind  their  backs.  First  it  was  "  The 
Vicar  of  Bray."  Then — and  the  cat  fled  at  the  first 
chord — "  Lochleven  Castle  " : 


"  Put  off,  put  off, 
And  row  with  speed 
For  now  is  the  time  and  the  hour  of  need." 

67 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Miss  Erroll  sang,  too  ;  her  voice  leading  —  a  charm 
ingly  trained,  but  childlike  voice,  of  no  pretensions,  as 
fresh  and  unspoiled  as  the  girl  herself. 

There  was  an  interval  after  "  Castles  in  the  Air  "  ; 
Eileen  sat,  with  her  marvellously  white  hands  resting 
on  the  keys,  awaiting  further  suggestion. 

"  Sing  that  funny  song,  Uncle  Philip  !  "  pleaded 
Billy  ;  "  you  know  —  the  one  about  : 

"  She  hit  him  with  a  shingle 

Which  made  his  breeches  tingle 
Because  he  pinched  his  little  baby  brother  ; 

And  he  ran  down  the  lane 

With  his  pants  full  of  pain. 
Oh,  a  boy's  best  friend  is  his  mother  !  " 


"  gasped  Miss  Erroll. 

Selwyn,  mortified,  said  severely  :  "  That  is  a  very 
dreadful  song,  Billy  -  " 

"  But  you  taught  it  to  me  -  " 

Eileen  swung  around  on  the  piano  stool,  but  Selwyn 
had  seized  Billy  and  was  promising  to  bolo  him  as  soon 
as  he  wished. 

And  Eileen,  surveying  the  scene  from  her  perch, 
thought  that  Selwyn's  years  seemed  to  depend  entirely 
upon  his  occupation,  for  he  looked  very  boyish  down 
there  on  his  knees  among  the  children  ;  and  she  had 
not  yet  forgotten  the  sunken  pallor  of  his  features  in 
the  Park  —  no,  nor  her  own  question  to  him,  still  unan 
swered.  For  she  had  asked  him  who  that  woman  was 
who  had  been  so  direct  in  her  smiling  salute.  And  he 
had  not  yet  replied  ;  probably  never  would  ;  for  she  did 
not  expect  to  ask  him  again. 

Meanwhile  the  bolo-men  were  rushing  the  outposts 
to  the  outposts'  intense  satisfaction. 

68 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


"  Bang-bang !  "  repeated  Winthrop ;  "  I  hit  you, 
Uncle  Philip.  You  are  dead,  you  know !  " 

"  Yes,  but  here  comes  another !  Fire !  "  shouted 
Billy.  "  Save  the  flag !  Hurrah !  Pound  on  the  piano, 
Eileen,  and  pretend  it's  cannon." 

Chord  after  chord  reverberated  through  the  big 
sunny  room,  punctuated  by  all  the  cavalry  music  she 
had  picked  up  from  West  Point  and  her  friends  in  the 
squadron. 

"  We  can't  get  'em  up  ! 
We  can't  get  'em  up  ! 
We  can't  get  'em  up 
In  the  morning  !  " 

she  sang,  calmly  watching  the  progress  of  the  battle, 
until  Selwyn  disengaged  himself  from  the  melee  and 
sank  breathlessly  into  a  chair. 

"  All  over,"  he  said,  declining  further  combat. 
"  Play  the  '  Star-spangled  Banner,'  Miss  Erroll." 

"  Boom !  "  crashed  the  chord  for  the  sunset  gun ; 
then  she  played  the  anthem ;  Selwyn  rose,  and  the 
children  stood  up  at  salute. 

The  party  was  over. 

Selwyn  and  Miss  Erroll,  strolling  together  out  of 
the  nursery  and  down  the  stairs,  fell  unconsciously  into 
the  amiable  exchange  of  badinage  again ;  she  taunting 
him  with  his  undignified  behaviour,  he  retorting  in 
kind. 

"  Anyway  that  was  a  perfectly  dreadful  verse  you 
taught  Billy,"  she  concluded. 

"  Not  as  dreadful  as  the  chorus,"  he  remarked, 
wincing. 

"  You're  exactly  like  a  bad  small  boy,  Captain  Sel 
wyn  ;  you  look  like  one  now — so  sheepish !  I've  seen 

69 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Gerald  attempt  to  avoid  admonition  in  exactly  that 
fashion." 

"  How  about  a  jolly  brisk  walk?  "  he  inquired 
blandly ;  "  unless  you've  something  on.  I  suppose  you 
have." 

"  Yes,  I  have ;  a  tea  at  the  Fanes,  a  function  at  the 
Grays.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  Sudbury  Gray?  It's  his 
mother." 

They  had  strolled  into  the  living  room — a  big, 
square,  sunny  place,  in  golden  greens  and  browns, 
where  a  bay-window  overlooked  the  Park. 

Kneeling  on  the  cushions  of  the  deep  window  seat 
she  flattened  her  delicate  nose  against  the  glass,  peer 
ing  out  through  the  lace  hangings. 

"  Everybody  and  his  family  are  driving,"  she  said 
over  her  shoulder.  "  The  rich  and  great  are  cornering 
the  fresh-air  supply.  It's  interesting,  isn't  it,  merely 
to  sit  here  and  count  coteries!  There  is  Mrs.  Venden- 
ning  and  Gladys  Orchil  of  the  Black  Fells  set ;  there  is 
that  pretty  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes ;  Newport!  Here 
come  some  Cedarhurst  people — the  Fleetwoods.  It  al 
ways  surprises  one  to  see  them  out  of  the  saddle.  There 
is  Evelyn  Cardwell ;  she  came  out  when  I  did ;  and  there 
comes  Sandon  Craig  with  a  very  old  lady — there,  in 
that  old-fashioned  coach — oh,  it  is  Mrs.  Jan  Van  Elten, 
senior.  What  a  very,  very  quaint  old  lady !  I  have 
been  presented  at  court,"  she  added,  with  a  little  laugh, 
"  and  now  all  the  law  has  been  fulfilled." 

For  a  while  she  kneeled  there,  silently  intent  on  the 
passing  pageant  with  all  the  unconscious  curiosity  of 
a  child.  Presently,  without  turning :  "  They  speak  of 
the  younger  set — but  what  is  its  limit?  So  many,  so 
many  people!  The  hunting  crowd — the  silly  crowd — 
the  wealthy  sets — the  dreadful  yellow  set — then  all 

70 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


those  others  made  out  of  metals — copper  and  coal  and 
iron  and — "  She  shrugged  her  youthful  shoulders, 
still  intent  on  the  passing  show./ 

"  Then  there  are  the  intellectuals — the  artistic,  the 
illuminated,  the  musical  sorts.  I — I  wish  I  knew  more 
of  them.  They  were  my  father's  friends — some  of 
them."  She  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  see  where  Sel- 
wyn  was,  and  whether  he  was  listening;  smiled  at  him, 
and  turned,  resting  one  hand  on  the  window  seat.  "  So 
many  kinds  of  people,"  she  said,  with  a  shrug. 

"  Yes,"  said  Selwyn  lazily,  "  there  are  all  kinds  of 
kinds.  You  remember  that  beautiful  nature-poem: 

"'The  sea-gull 

And  the  eagul 
And  the  dipper-dapper-duck 

And  the  Jew-fish 

And  the  blue-fish 
And  the  turtle  in  the  muck ; 

And  the  squir'l 

And  the  girl 
And  the  flippy  floppy  bat 

Are  differ-ent 

As  gent  from  gent. 
So  let  it  goat  that!'" 

"  What  hideous  nonsense,"  she  laughed,  in  open  en 
couragement;  but  he  could  recall  nothing  more — or 
pretended  he  couldn't. 

"  You  asked  me,"  he  said,  "  whether  I  know  Sud- 
bury  Gray.  I  do,  slightly.  What  about  him?  "  And 
he  waited,  remembering  Nina's  suggestion  as  to  that 
wealthy  young  man's  eligibility. 

"  He's  one  of  the  nicest  men  I  know,"  she  replied 
frankly. 

6  71 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  Yes,  but  you  don't  know  *  Boots  '  Lansing." 

"  The  gentleman  who  was  bucked  out  of  his  foot 
wear?  Is  he  attractive?  " 

"  Rather.  Shrieks  rent  the  air  when  6  Boots  '  left 
Manila." 

"  Feminine  shrieks  ?  " 

"  Exclusively.  The  men  were  glad  enough.  He  has 
three  months'  leave  this  winter,  so  you'll  see  him  soon." 

She  thanked  him  mockingly  for  the  promise,  watch 
ing  him  from  amused  eyes.  After  a  moment  she  said: 

"  I  ought  to  arise  and  go  forth  with  timbrels  and 
with  dances;  but,  do  you  know,  I  am  not  inclined  to 
revels?  There  has  been  a  little  —  just  a  very  little  bit 
too  much  festivity  so  far.  .  .  .  Not  that  I  don't  adore 
dinners  and  gossip  and  dances;  not  that  I  do  not  love 
to  pervade  bright  and  glittering  places.  Oh,  no.  Only 


She  looked  shyly  a  moment  at  Selwyn  :  "  I  some 
times  feel  a  curious  desire  for  other  things.  I  have 
been  feeling  it  all  day." 

"What  things?" 

"  I  —  don't  know  —  exactly  ;  substantial  things.  I'd 
like  to  learn  about  things.  My  father  was  the  head  of 
the  American  School  of  Archaeology  in  Crete.  My 
mother  was  his  intellectual  equal,  I  believe  -  " 

Her  voice  had  fallen  as  she  spoke.  "  Do  you  won 
der  that  physical  pleasure  palls  a  little  at  times?  I 
inherit  something  besides  a  capacity  for  dancing." 

He  nodded,  watching  her  with  an  interest  and  curi 
osity  totally  new. 

"  When  I  was  ten  years  old  I  was  taken  abroad  for 
the  winter.  I  saw  the  excavations  in  Crete  for  the 
buried  city  which  father  discovered  near  Praesos.  We 
lived  for  a  while  with  Professor  Flanders  in  the  Fayum 

72 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


district ;  I  saw  the  ruins  of  Kahun,  built  nearly  three 
thousand  years  before  the  coming  of  Christ ;  I  myself 
picked  up  a  scarab  as  old  as  the  ruins !  .  .  .  Captain 
Selwyn — I  was  only  a  child  of  ten ;  I  could  understand 
very  little  of  what  I  saw  and  heard,  but  I  have  never, 
never  forgotten  the  happiness  of  that  winter.  .  .  .  And 
that  is  why,  at  times,  pleasures  tire  me  a  little;  and  a 
little  discontent  creeps  in.  It  is  ungrateful  and  un 
gracious  of  me  to  say  so,  but  I  did  wish  so  much  to 
go  to  college — to  have  something  to  care  for — as 
mother  cared  for  father's  work.  Why,  do  you  know 
that  my  mother  accidentally  discovered  the  thirty- 
seventh  sign  in  the  Karian  Signary  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Selwyn,  "  I  did  hot  know  that."  He 
forbore  to  add  that  he  did  not  know  what  a  Signary 
resembled  or  where  Karia  might  be. 

Miss  Erroll's  elbow  was  on  her  knee,  her  chin  rest 
ing  within  her  open  palm. 

"  Do  you  know  about  my  parents  ? "  she  asked. 
"  They  were  lost  in  the  Argolis  off  Cyprus.  You  have 
heard.  I  think  they  meant  that  I  should  go  to  college 
— as  well  as  Gerald;  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  after  all 
it  is  better  for  me  to  do  what  other  young  girls  do. 
Besides,  I  enjoy  it;  and  my  mother  did,  too,  when  she 
was  my  age,  they  say.  She  was  very  much  gayer  than 
I  am ;  my  mother  was  a  beauty  and  a  brilliant  woman. 
.  .  .  But  there  were  other  qualities.  I — have  her  let 
ters  to  father  when  Gerald  and  I  were  very  little;  and 
her  letters  to  us  from  London.  ...  I  have  missed  her 
more,  this  winter,  it  seems  to  me,  than  even  in  that 
dreadful  time " 

She  sat  silent,  chin  in  hand,  delicate  fingers  rest 
lessly  worrying  her  red  lips ;  then,  in  quick  impulse : 

"  You  will  not  mistake  me,  Captain  Selwyn !  Nina 
73 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


and  Austin  have  been  perfectly  sweet  to  me  and  to 
Gerald." 

"  I  am  not  mistaking  a  word  you  utter,"  he  said. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  .  .  .  Only  there  are  times  .  .  . 
moments  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  died ;  her  clear  eyes  looked  out  into  space 
while  the  silent  seconds  lengthened  into  minutes.  One 
slender  finger  had  slipped  between  her  lips  and  teeth; 
the  burnished  strand  of  hair  which  Nina  dreaded  lay 
neglected  against  her  cheek. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  she  began,  as  though  to 
herself,  "  something  about  everything.  That  being  out 
of  the  question,  I  should  like  to  know  everything  about 
something.  That  also  being  out  of  the  question,  for 
third  choice  I  should  like  to  know  something  about 
something.  I  am  not  too  ambitious,  am  I  ?  " 

Selwyn  did  not  offer  to  answer. 

"  Am  I?  "  she  repeated,  looking  directly  at  him. 

"  I  thought  you  were  asking  yourself." 

"  But  you  need  not  reply ;  there  is  no  sense  in  my 
question." 

She  stood  up,  indifferent,  absent-eyed,  half  turning 
toward  the  window;  and,  raising  her  hand,  she  care 
lessly  brought  the  rebel  strand  of  hair  under  discipline. 

"  You  said  you  were  going  to  look  up  Gerald,"  she 
observed. 

"  I  am ;  now.     What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I?  Oh,  dress,  I  suppose.  Nina  ought  to  be  back 
now,  and  she  expects  me  to  go  out  with  her." 

She  nodded  a  smiling  termination  of  their  duet,  and 
moved  toward  the  door.  Then,  on  impulse,  she  turned, 
a  question  on  her  lips — left  unuttered  through  instinct. 
It  had  to  do  with  the  identity  of  the  pretty  woman 
who  had  so  directly  saluted  him  in  the  Park — a  per- 

74 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


fectly  friendly,  simple,  and  natural  question.  Yet  it 
remained  unuttered. 

She  turned  again  to  the  doorway ;  a  maid  stocd 
there  holding  a  note  on  a  salver. 

"  For  Captain  Selwyn,  please,"  murmured  the  maid. 

Miss  Erroll  passed  out. 

Selwyn  took  the  note  and  broke  the  seal: 

"  MY  DEAR  SELWYX  :  I'm  in  a  beastly  fix — an  I.  O. 
U.  due  to-night  and  pas  de  quoi !  Obviously  I  don't 
want  Xeergard  to  know,  being  associated  as  I  am  with 
him  in  business.  As  for  Austin,  he's  a  peppery  old  boy, 
bless  his  heart,  and  I'm  not  very  secure  in  his  good 
graces  at  present.  Fact  is  I  got  into  a  rather  stiff 
game  last  night — and  it's  a  matter  of  honour.  So  can 
you  help  me  to  tide  it  over?  I'll  square  it  on  the  first 
of  the  month. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  GERALD  ERROLL. 

"  P.S. — I've  meant  to  look  you  up  for  ever  so  long, 
and  will  the  first  moment  I  have  free." 

Below  this  was  pencilled  the  amount  due;  and  Sel- 
wyn's  face  grew  very  serious. 

The  letter  he  wrote  in  return  ran : 

**  DEAR  GERALD  :  Check  enclosed  to  your  order. 
By  the  way,  can't  you  lunch  with  me  at  the  Lenox  Club 
some  day  this  week?  Write,  wire,  or  telephone  when. 

"  Yours, 

"  SELWYN." 

When  he  had  sent  the  note  away  by  the  messenger 
he  walked  back  to  the  bay-window,  hands  in  his  pockets, 

75 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


a  worried  expression  in  his  gray  eyes.  This  sort  of 
thing  must  not  be  repeated;  the  boy  must  halt  in  his 
tracks  and  face  sharply  the  other  way.  Besides,  his 
own  income  was  limited — much  too  limited  to  admit  of 
many  more  loans  of  that  sort. 

He  ought  to  see  Gerald  at  once,  but  somehow  he 
could  not  in  decency  appear  personally  on  the  heels  of 
his  loan.  A  certain  interval  must  elapse  between  the 
loan  and  the  lecture ;  in  fact  he  didn't  see  very  well 
how  he  could  admonish  and  instruct  until  the  loan  had 
been  cancelled — that  is,  until  the  first  of  the  New  Year. 

Pacing  the  floor,  disturbed,  uncertain  as  to  the 
course  he  should  pursue,  he  looked  up  presently  to  see 
Miss  Erroll  descending  the  stairs,  fresh  and  sweet  in 
her  radiant  plumage.  As  she  caught  his  eye  she  waved 
a  silvery  chinchilla  muff  at  him — a  marching  salute — 
and  passed  on,  calling  back  to  him :  "  Don't  forget 
Gerald!" 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  forget  Gerald."  He  stood 
a  moment  at  the  window  watching  the  brougham  below 
where  Nina  awaited  Miss  Erroll.  Then,  abruptly,  he 
turned  back  into  the  room  and  picked  up  the  telephone 
receiver,  muttering :  "  This  is  no  time  to  mince  matters 
for  the  sake  of  appearances."  And  he  called  up  Gerald 
at  the  offices  of  Neergard  £  Co. 

"Is  it  you,  Gerald?"  he  asked  pleasantly.  "It's 
all  right  about  that  matter ;  I've  sent  you  a  note  by 
your  messenger.  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  an 
other  matter — something  concerning  myself — I  want  to 
ask  your  advice,  in  a  way.  Can  you  be  at  the  Lenox 
by  six?  .  .  .  You  have  an  engagement  at  eight?  Oh, 
that's  all  right;  I  won't  keep  you.  .  .  .  It's  under 
stood,  then ;  the  Lenox  at  six.  .  .  .  Good-bye." 

76 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


There  was  the  usual  early  evening  influx  of  men  at 
the  Lenox  who  dropped  in  for  a  glance  at  the  ticker, 
or  for  a  cocktail  or  a  game  of  billiards  or  a  bit  of 
gossip  before  going  home  to  dress. 

'  Selwyn  sauntered  over  to  the  basket,  inspected  a 
yard  or  two  of  tape,  then  strolled  toward  the  window, 
nodding  to  Bradley  Harmon  and  Sandon  Craig. 

As  he  turned  his  face  to  the  window  and  his  back 
to  the  room,  Harmon  came  up  rather  effusively,  offer 
ing  an  unusually  thin  flat  hand  and  further  hospitality, 
pleasantly  declined  by  Selwyn. 

"  Horrible  thing,  a  cocktail,"  observed  Harmon, 
after  giving  his  own  order  and  seating  himself  oppo 
site  Selwyn.  "  I  don't  usually  do  it.  Here  comes  the 
man  who  persuades  me! — my  own  partner " 

Selwyn  looked  up  to  see  Fane  approaching;  and  in 
stantly  a  dark  flush  overspread  his  face. 

"  You  know  George  Fane,  don't  you?  "  continued 
Harmon  easily ;  "  well,  that's  odd ;  I  thought,  of  course 
— Captain  Selwyn,  Mr.  Fane.  It's  not  usual — but  it's 
done." 

They  exchanged  formalities — dry  and  brief  on  Sel- 
wyn's  part,  gracefully  urbane  on  Fane's. 

"  I've  heard  so  pleasantly  of  you  from  Gerald  Er- 
roll,"  he  said,  "  and  of  course  our  people  have  always 
been  on  cordial  terms.  Neither  Mrs.  Fane  nor  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  you  last  Tuesday  at  the 
Gerards — such  a  crush,  you  know.  Are  you  not  join 
ing  us,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  "  as  the  servant  appeared  to 
take  orders. 

Selwyn  declined  again,  glancing  at  Harmon  —  a 
large-framed,  bony  young  man  with  blond,  closely 
trimmed  and  pointed  beard,  and  the  fair  colour  of  a 
Swede.  He  had  the  high,  flat  cheek-bones  of  one,  too ; 

77 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  a  thicket  of  corn-tinted  hair,  which  was  usually 
damp  at  the  ends,  and  curled  flat  against  his  forehead. 
He  seemed  to  be  always  in  a  slight  perspiration — he  had 
been,  anyway,  every  time  Selwyn  met  him  anywhere. 

Sandon  Craig  and  Billy  Fleetwood  came  wandering 
up  and  joined  them;  one  or  two  other  men,  drifting  by, 
adhered  to  the  group. 

Selwyn,  involved  in  small  talk,  glanced  sideways  at 
the  great  clock,  and  gathered  himself  together  for  de 
parture. 

Fleetwood  was  saying  to  Craig :  "  Certainly  it  was 
a  stiff  game — Bradley,  myself,  Gerald  Erroll,  Mrs. 
Delmour-Carnes,  and  the  Ruthvens." 

"  Were  you  hit?  "  asked  Craig,  interested. 

"  No ;  about  even.  Gerald  got  it  good  and  plenty, 
though.  The  Ruthvens  were  ahead  as  usual " 

Selwyn,  apparently  hearing  nothing,  quietly  rose 
and  stepped  out  of  the  circle,  paused  to  set  fire  to  a 
cigarette,  and  then  strolled  off  toward  the  visitors' 
room,  where  Gerald  was  now  due. 

Fane  stretched  his  neck,  looking  curiously  after 
him.  Then  he  said  to  Fleetwood :  "  Why  begin  to  talk 
about  Mrs.  Ruthven  when  our  friend  yonder  is  about? 
Rotten  judgment  you  show,  Billy." 

"  Well,  I  clean  forgot,"  said  Fleetwood ;  "  what  did 
I  say,  anyway?  A  man  can't  always  remember  who's 
divorced  from  who  in  this  town." 

Harmon,  whose  civility  to  Selwyn  had  possibly  been 
based  on  his  desire  for  pleasant  relations  with  Austin 
Gerard  and  the  Arickaree  Loan  and  Trust  Company, 
looked  at  Fleetwood  thoroughly  vexed.  But  nobody 
could  have  suspected  vexation  in  that  high-boned  smile 
which  showed  such  very  red  lips  through  the  blond 
beard. 

78 


A    DREAM   EXDS 


Fane,  too,  smiled;  his  prominent  soft  brown  eyes 
expressed  gentlest  good-humour,  and  he  passed  his  hand 
reflectively  over  his  unusually  small  and  retreating  chin. 
Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  meeting  in  the  Park 
that  morning.  It  was  amusing ;  but  men  do  not  speak 
of  such  things  at  their  clubs,  no  matter  how  amusing. 
Besides,  if  the  story  were  aired  and  were  traced  to  him, 
Ruthven  might  turn  ugly.  There  was  no  counting  on 
Ruthven. 

Meanwhile  Selwyn,  perplexed  and  worried,  found 
young  Erroll  just  entering  the  visitors'  room,  and 
greeted  him  with  nervous  cordiality. 

"  If  you  can't  stay  and  dine  with  me,"  he  said,  "  I 
won't  put  you  down.  You  know,  of  course,  I  can  only 
ask  you  once  in  a  year,  so  we'll  stay  here  and  chat 
a  bit." 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  young  Erroll,  flinging  off 
his  very  new  and  very  fashionable  overcoat — a  wonder 
fully  handsome  boy,  with  all  the  attraction  that  a  quick, 
warm,  impulsive  manner  carries.  "  And  I  say,  Selwyn, 
it  was  awfully  decent  of  you  to " 

"  Bosh !  Friends  are  for  that  sort  of  thing,  Gerald. 
Sit  here — "  He  looked  at  the  young  man  hesitatingly : 
but  Gerald  calmly  took  the  matter  out  of  his  jurisdic 
tion  by  nodding  his  order  to  the  club  attendant. 

"  Lord,  but  I'm  tired,"  he  said,  sinking  back  into 
a  big  arm-chair;  "I  was  up  till  daylight,  and  then  I 
had  to  be  in  the  office  by  nine,  and  to-night  Billy  Fleet- 
wood  is  giving — oh,  something  or  other.  By  the  way, 
the  market  isn't  doing  a  thing  to  the  shorts !  You're 
not  in,  are  you,  Selwyn  ?  " 

"  No,  not  that  way.  I  hope  you  are  not,  either ; 
are  you,  Gerald?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  replied  the  young  fellow  con- 
79 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


fidently ;  and   raising  his   glass,  he  nodded  at  Selwyn 
with  a  smile. 

"  You  were  mighty  nice  to  me,  anyhow,"  he  said, 
setting  his  glass  aside  and  lighting  a  cigar.  "  You 
see,  I  went  to  a  dance,  and  after  a  while  some  of  us 
cleared  out,  and  Jack  Ruthven  offered  us  trouble;  so 
half  a  dozen  of  us  went  there.  I  had  the  worst  cards 
a  man  ever  drew  to  a  kicker.  That  was  all  about  it." 

The  boy  was  utterly  unconscious  that  he  was  tread 
ing  on  delicate  ground  as  he  rattled  on  in  his  warm 
hearted,  frank,  and  generous  way.  Totally  oblivious 
that  the  very  name  of  Ruthven  must  be  unwelcome  if 
not  offensive  to  his  listener,  he  laughed  through  a  de 
scription  of  the  affair,  its  thrilling  episodes,  and  Mrs. 
Jack  Ruthven's  blind  luck  in  the  draw. 

"  One  moment,"  interrupted  Selwyn,  very  gently ; 
"  do  you  mind  saying  whether  you  banked  my  check 
and  drew  against  it?  " 

"  Why,  no;  I  just  indorsed  it  over." 

"  To — to  whom  ? — if  I  may  venture " 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh;  "to  Mrs. 
Jack — "  Then,  in  a  flash,  for  the  first  time  the  boy 
realised  what  he  was  saying,  and  stopped  aghast,  scarlet 
to  his  hair. 

Selwyn's  face  had  little  colour  remaining  in  it,  but 
he  said  very  kindly :  "  It's  all  right,  Gerald ;  don't 
worry " 

"  I'm  a  beast !  "  broke  out  the  boy ;  "  I  beg  your 
pardon  a  thousand  times." 

"  Granted,  old  chap.  But,  Gerald,  may  I  say  one 
thing — or  perhaps  two  ?  " 

"  Go  ahead !    Give  it  to  me  good  and  plenty !  " 

"  It's  only  this :  couldn't  you  and  I  see  one  an 
other  a  little  of tener  ?  Don't  be  afraid  of  me ;  I'm  no 

SO 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


wet  blanket.  I'm  not  so  very  aged,  either;  I  know 
something  of  the  world — I  understand  something  of 
men.  I'm  pretty  good  company,  Gerald.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  I  say,  sure !  "  cried  the  boy  warmly. 

"It's  a  go,  then.  And  one  thing  more:  couldn't 
you  manage  to  come  up  to  the  house  a  little  oftener? 
Everybody  misses  you,  of  course ;  I  think  your  sister 
is  a  trifle  sensitive " 

"  I  will !  "  said  Gerald,  blushing.  "  Somehow  I've 
had  such  a  lot  on  hand — all  day  at  the  office,  and  some 
thing  on  every  evening.  I  know  perfectly  well  I've 
neglected  Eily — and  everybody.  But  the  first  moment 
I  can  find  free " 

Selwyn  nodded.  "  And  last  of  all,"  he  said,  "  there's 
something  about  my  own  affairs  that  I  thought  you 
might  advise  me  on." 

Gerald,  proud,  enchanted,  stood  very  straight ;  the 
older  man  continued  gravely : 

"  I've  a  little  capital  to  invest — not  very  much. 
Suppose — and  this,  I  need  not  add,  is  in  confidence  be 
tween  us — suppose  I  suggested  to  Air/  Neergard " 

"Oh,"  cried  young  Erroll,  delighted,  "that  is 
fine!  Neergard  would  be  glad  enough.  Why,  we've 
got  that  Valleydale  tract  in  shape  now,  and  there  are 
scores  of  schemes  in  the  air — scores  of  them — import 
ant  moves  which  may  mean — anything !  "  he  ended, 
excitedly. 

"  Then  you  think  it  would  be  all  right — in  case 
Neergard  likes  the  idea?  " 

Gerald  was  enthusiastic.  After  a  while  they  shook 
hands,  it  being  time  to  separate.  And  for  a  long  time 
Selwyn  sat  there  alone  in  the  visitors'  room,  absent- 
eyed,  facing  the  blazing  fire  of  cannel  coal. 

81 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


How  to  be  friends  with  this  boy  without  openly 
playing  the  mentor ;  how  to  gain  his  confidence  with 
out  appearing  to  seek  it;  how  to  influence  him  without 
alarming  him !  No ;  there  was  no  great  harm  in  him 
yet ;  only  the  impulse  of  inconsiderate  youth ;  only  an 
enthusiastic  capacity  for  pleasure. 

One  thing  was  imperative — the  boy  must  cut  out 
his  card-playing  for  stakes  at  once;  and  there  was  a 
way  to  accomplish  that  by  impressing  Gerald  with  the 
idea  that  to  do  anything  behfhd^Neergard's  back  which 
he  would  not  care  to  tell  hpi  about  was  a  sort  of 
treachery.  J 

Who  were  these  people,  anyway,  who  would  permit 
a  boy  of  that  age,  and  im  a  responsible  position,  to 
play  for  such  stakes?  ^Mjh0  were  they  to  encourage 

such ?  /f^^N^Sv 

Selwyn's  tightening  \grasp  on  his  chair  suddenly 
relaxed;  he  sank  ^baSfcs^taring  at  the  brilliant  coals. 
He,  too,  had  forgotten. 

Now  he  remembe^eoC  in  humiliation  unspeakable,  in 
bitterness  past  QWpelief . 

Time  sped,  ^tad/uie  sat  there,  motionless ;  and  gradu 
ally  the  bittemeislbecame  less  perceptible  as  he  drifted, 
intent  on  drifting,  back  through  the  exotic  sorcery  of 
dead  years — back  into  the  sun  again,  where  honour  was 
bright  and  life  was  young — where  all  the  world  awaited 
happy  conquest — where  there  was  no  curfew  in  the  red 
evening  glow;  no  end  to  day,  because  the  golden  light 
had  turned  to  silver;  but  where  the  earliest  hint  cf 
dawn  was  a  challenge,  and  where  every  yellow  star 
whispered  "  Awake !  " 

And  out  of  the  magic  she  had  come  into  his  world 
again ! 

Sooner  or  later  he  would  meet  her  now.  That  was 
82 


A    DREAM   ENDS 


sure.  When?  Where?  And  of  what  significance  was 
it,  after  all? 

Whom  did  it  concern?  Him?  Her?  And  what 
had  he  to  say  to  her,  after  all?  Or  she  to  him? 

Not  one  word. 

About  midnight  he  roused  himself  and  picked  up 
his  hat  and  coat. 

"  Do  you  wish  a  cab,  please  ?  "  whispered  the  club 
servant  who  held  his  coat ;  "  it  is  snowing  very  hard, 
sir." 


83 


CHAPTER    III 

UNDER    THE    ASHES 

HE  had  neither  burned  nor  returned  the  photo 
graph  to  Mrs.  Ruthven.  The  prospect  perplexed  and 
depressed  Selwyn. 

He  was  sullenly  aware  that  in  a  town  where  the 
divorced  must  ever  be  reckoned  with  when  dance  and 
dinner  lists  are  made  out,  there  is  always  some  thought 
less  hostess — and  sometimes  a  mischievous  one;  and 
the  chances  were  that  he  and  Mrs.  Jack  Ruthven  would 
collide,  either  through  the  forgetfulness  or  malice  of 
somebody  or,  through  sheer  hazard,  at  some  large  af 
fair  where  Destiny  and  Fate  work  busily  together  in 
criminal  copartnership. 

And  he  encountered  her  first  at  a  masque  and  revel 
given  by  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes  where  Fate  contrived 
that  he  should  dance  in  the  same  set  with  his  ci-devant 
wife  before  the  unmasking,  and  where,  unaware,  they 
gaily  exchanged  salute  and  hand-clasp  before  the  jolly 
melee  of  unmasking  revealed  how  close  together  two 
people  could  come  after  parting  for  ever  and  a  night 
at  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth. 

When  masks  at  last  were  off  there  was  neither 
necessity  nor  occasion  for  the  two  surprised  and  rather 
pallid  young  people  to  renew  civilities ;  but  later,  Des 
tiny,  the  saturnine  partner  in  the  business,  interfered; 

-  84 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


and  some  fool  in  the  smoking  room  tried  to  introduce 
Selwyn  to  Ruthven.  The  slightest  mistake  on  their 
parts  would  have  rendered  the  incident  ridiculous ;  and 
Ruthven  made  that  mistake. 

That  was  Selwyn's  first  encounter  with  the  Ruth- 
vens.  A  short  time  afterward  at  the  opera  Gerald 
dragged  him  into  a  parterre  to  say  something  amiable 
to  one  of  the  debutante  Craig  girls — and  Selwyn  found 
himself  again  facing  Alixe. 

If  there  was  any  awkwardness  it  was  not  apparent, 
although  they  both  knew  that  they  were  in  full  view 
of  the  house. 

A  cool  bow  and  its  cooler  acknowledgment,  a  formal 
word  and  more  formal  reply ;  and  Selwyn  made  his 
way  to  the  corridor,  hot  with  vexation,  unaware  of 
where  he  was  going,  and  oblivious  of  the  distressed 
and  apologetic  young  man,  who  so  contritely  kept 
step  with  him  through  the  brilliantly  crowded  prom 
enade. 

That  was  the  second  time — not  counting  distant 
glimpses  in  crowded  avenues,  in  the  Park,  at  Sherry's, 
or  across  the  hazy  glitter  of  thronged  theatres.  But 
the  third  encounter  was  different. 

It  was  all  a  mistake,  born  of  the  haste  of  a  heed 
less  and  elderly  matron,  celebrated  for  managing  to 
do  the  wrong  thing,  but  who  had  been  excessively  nice 
to  him  that  winter,  and  whose  position  in  Manhattan 
was  not  to  be  assailed. 

"  Dear  Captain  Selwyn,"  she  wheezed  over  the  tele 
phone,  "  I'm  short  one  man ;  and  we  dine  at  eight  and 
it's  that  now.  Could  you  help  me?  It's  the  rich  and 
yellow,  this  time,  but  you  won't  mind,  will  you  ?  " 

Selwyn,  standing  at  the  lower  telephone  in  the  hall, 
asked  her  to  hold  the  wire  a  moment,  and  glanced  up 

85 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


at  his  sister  who  was  descending  the  stairs  with  Eileen, 
dinner  having  at  that  instant  been  announced. 

"  Mrs.  T.  West  Minster — flying  signals  of  distress," 
he  said,  carefully  covering  the  transmitter  as  he  spoke ; 
"  man  overboard,  and  will  I  kindly  take  a  turn  at  the 
wheel?  " 

"  What  a  shame !  "  said  Eileen ;  "  you  are  going  to 
spoil  the  first  home  dinner  we  have  had  together  in 
weeks !  " 

"  Tell  her  to  get  some  yellow  pup ! "  growled  Aus 
tin,  from  above. 

"  As  though  anybody  could  get  a  yellow  pup  when 
they  whistle,"  said  Nina  hopelessly. 

"  That's  true,"  nodded  Selwyn ;  "  I'm  the  original 
old  dog  Tray.  Whistle,  and  I  come  padding  up.  Ever 
faithful,  you  see." 

And  he  uncovered  the  transmitter  and  explained  to 
Mrs.  T.  West  Minster  his  absurd  delight  at  being 
whistled  at.  Then  he  sent  for  a  cab  and  sauntered  into 
the  dining-room,  where  he  was  received  with  undisguised 
hostility. 

"  She's  been  civil  to  me,"  he  said ;  "  jeunesse  oblige, 
you  know.  And  that's  why  I " 

"There'll  be  a  lot  of  debutantes  there!  What  do 
you  want  to  go  for,  you  cradle  robber !  "  protested 
Austin — "  a  lot  of  water-bibbing,  olive-eating,  talcum- 
powdered  debutantes " 

Eileen  straightened  up  stiffly,  and  Selwyn's  teasing 
smile  and  his  offered  hand  in  adieu  completed  her  in 
dignation. 

"  Oh,  good-bye !  No,  I  won't  shake  hands.  There's 
your  cab,  now.  I  wish  you'd  take  Austin,  too ;  Nina 
and  I  are  tired  of  dining  with  the  prematurely  aged." 

"  Indeed,  we  are,"  said  Mrs.  Gerard ;  "  go  to  your 
86 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


club,  Austin,  and  give  me  a   chance   to   telephone   to 
somebody  under  the  anaesthetic  age." 

Selwyn  departed,  laughing,  but  he  yawned  in  his 
cab  all  the  way  to  Fifty-third  Street,  where  he  entered 
in  the  wake  of  the  usual  laggards  and,  surrendering  hat 
and  coat  in  the  cloak  room,  picked  up  the  small  slim 
envelope  bearing  his  name. 

The  card  within  disclosed  the  information  that  he 
was  to  take  in  Mrs.  Somebody-or-Other ;  he  made  his 
way  through  a  great  many  people,  found  his  hostess, 
backed  off,  stood  on  one  leg  for  a  moment  like  a  re 
flective  water-fowl,  then  found  Mrs.  Somebody-or- 
Other  and  was  absently  good  to  her  through  a  great 
deal  of  noise  and  some  Spanish  music,  which  seemed  to 
squirt  through  a  thicket  of  palms  and  bespatter  every 
body. 

"  Wonderful  music,"  observed  his  dinner  partner, 
with  singular  originality ;  "  so  like  Carmen." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  replied,  and  took  her  away  at  a  nod 
from  his  hostess,  whose  daughter  Dorothy  leaned  for 
ward  from  her  partner's  arm  at  the  same  moment,  and 
whispered :  "  I  must  speak  to  you,  mamma !  You  can't 
put  Captain  Selwyn  there  because " 

But  her  mother  was  deaf  and  smilingly  sensitive 
about  it,  so  she  merely  guessed  what  reply  her  child 
expected :  "  It's  all  settled,  dear ;  Captain  Selwyn  ar 
rived  a  moment  ago."  And  she  closed  the  file. 

It  was  already  too  late,  anyhow ;  and  presently, 
turning  to  see  who  was  seated  on  his  left,  Selwyn 
found  himself  gazing  into  the  calm,  flushed  face  of 
Alixe  Ruthven.  It  was  their  third  encounter. 

They    exchanged    a    dazed   nod    of    recognition,    a 
meaningless  murmur,  and  turned  again,  apparently  un 
disturbed,  to  their  respective  dinner  partners. 
7  87 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


A  great  many  curious  eyes,  lingering  on  them, 
shifted  elsewhere,  in  reluctant  disappointment. 

As  for  the  hostess,  she  had,  for  one  instant,  come 
as  near  to  passing  heavenward  as  she  could  without 
doing  it  when  she  discovered  the  situation.  Then  she 
accepted  it  with  true  humour.  She  could  afford  to. 
But  her  daughters,  Sheila  and  Dorothy,  suffered 
acutely,  being  of  this  year's  output  and  martyrs  to 
responsibility. 

Meanwhile,  Selwyn,  grimly  aware  of  an  accident 
somewhere,  and  perfectly  conscious  of  the  feelings 
which  must  by  this  time  dominate  his  hostess,  was  won 
dering  how  best  to  avoid  anything  that  might  re 
semble  a  situation. 

Instead  of  two  or  three  dozen  small  tables,  scat 
tered  among  the  palms  of  the  winter  garden,  their 
hostess  had  preferred  to  construct  a  great  oval  board 
around  the  aquarium.  The  arrangement  made  it  a 
little  easier  for  Selwyn  and  Mrs.  Ruthven.  He  talked 
to  his  dinner  partner  until  she  began  to  respond  in 
monosyllables,  which  closed  each  subject  that  he 
opened  and  wearied  him  as  much  as  he  was  boring 
her.  But  Bradley  Harmon,  the  man  on  her  right,  evi 
dently  had  better  fortune ;  and  presently  Selwyn  found 
himself  with  nobody  to  talk  to,  which  came  as  near  to 
embarrassing  him  as  anything  could,  and  which  so  en 
raged  his  hostess  that  she  struck  his  partner's  name 
from  her  lists  for  ever,  People  were  already  glancing 
at  him  askance  in  sly  amusement  or  cold  curiosity. 

Then  he  did  a  thing  which  endeared  him  to  Mrs. 
T.  West  Minster  and  to  her  two  disconsolate  children. 

"  Mrs.  Ruthven,"  he  said,  very  naturally  and  pleas 
antly,  "  I  think  perhaps  we  had  better  talk  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two — if  you  don't  mind." 

88 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


She  said  quietly,  "  I  don't  mind,"  and  turned  with 
charming  composure.  Every  eye  shifted  to  them,  then 
obeyed  decency  or  training ;  and  the  slightest  break 
in  the  gay  tumult  was  closed  up  with  chatter  and 
laughter. 

"  Plucky,"  said  Sandon  Craig  to  his  fair  neigh 
bour  ;  "  but  by  what  chance  did  our  unfortunate 
hostess  do  it?  " 

"  She's  usually  doing  it,  isn't  she?  What  occupies 
me,"  returned  his  partner,  "  is  how  on  earth  Alixe 
could  have  thrown  away  that  adorable  man  for  Jack 
Ruthven.  Why,  he  is  already  trying  to  scramble  into 
Rosamund  Fane's  lap — the  horrid  little  poodle! — al 
ways  curled  up  on  the  edge  of  your  skirt ! " 

She  stared  at  Mrs.  Ruthven  across  the  crystal 
reservoir  brimming  with  rose  and  ivory-tinted  water- 
lilies. 

"  That  girl  is  marked  for  destruction,"  she  said 
slowly ;  "  the  gods  have  done  their  work  already." 

But  whatever  Alixe  had  been,  whatever  she  now 
was,  she  showed  to  her  little  world  only  a  pale 
brunette  symmetry — a  strange  and  changeless  lustre, 
varying  as  little  as  the  moon's  phases ;  and  like  that 
burnt-out  planet,  reflecting  any  flame  that  flared  until 
her  clear,  young  beauty  seemed  pulsating  with  the 
promise  of  hidden  fire. 

Selwyn,  outwardly  amiable  and  formal,  was  saying 
in  a  low  voice :  "  My  dinner  partner  is  quite  impossible, 
you  see;  and  I  happen  to  be  here  as  a  filler  in — com 
manded  to  the  presence  only  a  few  minutes  ago.  It's 
a  pardonable  error;  I  bear  no  malice.  But  I'm  sorry 
for  you." 

There  was  a  silence ;  Alixe  straightened  her  slim 
figure,  and  turned ;  but  young  Innis,  who  had  taken 

^89 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


her  in,  had  become  confidential  with  Mrs.  Fane.  As 
for  Selwyn's  partner,  she  probably  divined  his  con 
versational  designs  on  her,  but  she  merely  turned  her 
bare  shoulder  a  trifle  more  unmistakably  and  continued 
her  gossip  with  Bradley  Harmon. 

Alixe  broke  a  tiny  morsel  from  her  bread,  sensible 
of  the  tension. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  as  though  reciting  to  some 
new  acquaintance  an  amusing  bit  of  gossip — "  that  we 
are  destined  to  this  sort  of  thing  occasionally  and  had 
better  get  used  to  it." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Please,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  aid  me  a 
little." 

"  I  will  if  I  can.    What  am  I  to  say?  " 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling ; 
"  it  need  not  be  very  civil,  you  know — as  long  as  no 
body  hears  you." 

To  school  his  features  for  the  deception  of  others, 
to  school  his  voice  and  manner  and  at  the  same  time 
look  smilingly  into  the  grave  of  his  youth  and  hope 
called  for  the  sort  of  self-command  foreign  to  his 
character.  Glancing  at  him  under  her  smoothly  fitted 
mask  of  amiability,  she  slowly  grew  afraid  of  the 
situation — but  not  of  her  ability  to  sustain  her  own 
part. 

They  exchanged  a  few  meaningless  phrases,  then 
she  resolutely  took  young  Innis  away  from  Rosamund 
Fane,  leaving  Selwyn  to  count  the  bubbles  in  his  wine 
glass. 

But  in  a  few  moments,  whether  by  accident  or  de 
liberate  design,  Rosamund  interfered  again,  and  Mrs. 
Ruthven  was  confronted  with  the  choice  of  a  squabble 
for  possession  of  young  Innis,  of  conspicuous  silence, 

90 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


or  of  resuming  once  more  with  Selwyn.  And  she  chose 
the  last  resort. 

"  You  are  living  in  town  ?  "  she  asked  pleasantly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  course ;  I  forgot.  I  met  a  man  last  night  who 
said  you  had  entered  the  firm  of  Neergard  &  Co." 

"  I  have.     Who  was  the  man?  " 

"  You  can  never  guess,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  I  don't  want  to.     Who  was  he?  " 

"  Please  don't  terminate  so  abruptly  the  few  sub 
jects  we  have  in  reserve.  We  may  be  obliged  to  talk 
to  each  other  for  a  number  of  minutes  if  Rosamund 
doesn't  let  us  alone.  .  .  .  The  man  was  *  Boots  ' 
Lansing." 

"  *  Boots  ! '     Here !  " 

"  Arrived  from  Manila  Sunday.  Sans  gene  as  usual 
he  introduced  you  as  the  subject,  and  told  me — oh, 
dozens  of  things  about  you.  I  suppose  he  began  in 
quiring  for  you  before  he  crossed  the  troopers'  .gang 
plank  ;  and  somebody  sent  him  to  Neergard  &  Co. 
Haven't  you  seen  him?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  staring  at  the  brilliant  fish,  which 
glided  along  the  crystal  tank,  goggling  their  eyes  at 
the  lights. 

"  You — 3Tou  are  living  with  the  Gerards,  I  be 
lieve,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"  For  a  while." 

"  Oh,  '  Boots  '  says  that  he  is  expecting  to  take  an 
apartment  with  you  somewhere." 

"  What !     Has  '  Boots  '  resigned?  " 

"  So  he  says.  He  told  me  that  you  had  resigned. 
I  did  not  understand  that;  I  imagined  you  were  here 
on  leave  until  I  heard  about  Neergard  &  Co." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  could  have  remained  in  the 
91 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


service?  "  he  demanded.  His  voice  was  dry  and  al 
most  accentless. 

"  Why  not?  "  she  returned,  paling. 

"  You  may  answer  that  question  more  pleasantly 
than  I  can." 

She  usually  avoided  champagne ;  but  she  had  to  do 
something  for  herself  now.  As  for  him,  he  took  what 
was  offered  without  noticing  what  he  took,  and  grew 
whiter  and  whiter ;  but  a  fixed  glow  gradually  ap 
peared  and  remained  on  her  cheeks ;  courage,  impa 
tience,  a  sudden  anger  at  the  forced  conditions  steadied 
her  nerves. 

"Will  you  please  prove  equal  to  the  situation?" 
she  said  under  her  breath,  but  with  a  charming  smile. 
"  Do  you  know  you  are  scowling?  These  people 
here  are  ready  to  laugh;  and  I'd  much  prefer  that 
they  tear  us  to  rags  on  suspicion  of  our  over-friend 
liness." 

"  Who  is  that  fool  woman  who  is  monopolising 
your  partner  ?  " 

"  Rosamund  Fane ;  she's  doing  it  on  purpose.  You 
must  try  to  smile  now  and  then." 

"  My  face  is  stiff  with  grinning,"  he  said,  "  but 
I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you " 

"  Please  include  yourself,  too." 

"  Oh,  I  can  stand  their  opinions,"  he  said ;  "  I  only 
meet  the  yellow  sort  occasionally;  I  don't  herd  with 
them." 

"  I  do,  thank  you." 

"  How  do  you  like  them?  What  is  your  opinion 
of  the  yellow  set?  Here  they  sit  all  about  you — 
the  Phoenix  Mottlys,  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes  yonder, 
the  Draymores,  the  Orchils,  the  Vendenning  lady,  the 
Lawns  of  Westlawn — "  he  paused,  then  deliberately — 

92 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"  and  the  '  Jack  '  Ruthvens.  I  forgot,  Alixe,  that  you 
are  now  perfectly  equipped  to  carry  aloft  the  golden 
hod." 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  but  the 
fixed  smile  never  altered. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  can't  talk.  I  thought  I  could, 
but  I  can't.  Take  that  boy  away  from  Mrs.  Fane  as 
soon  as  you  can." 

"  I  can't  yet.  You  must  go  on.  I  ask  your  aid 
to  carry  this  thing  through.  I — I  am  afraid  of  their 
ridicule.  Could  you  try  to  help  me  a  little  ?  " 

"  If  you  put  it  that  way,  of  course."  And,  after 
a  silence,  "What  am  I  to  say?  What  in  God's  name 
shall  I  say  to  you,  Alixe  ?  " 

"  Anything  bitter — as  long  as  you  control  your 
voice  and  features.  Try  to  smile  at  me  when  you  speak, 
Philip." 

"  All  right.  I  have  no  reason  to  be  bitter, 
anyway,"  he  said ;  "  and  every  reason  to  be  other 
wise." 

"  That  is  not  true.  You  tell  me  that  I  have  ruined 
your  career  in  the  army.  I  did  not  know  I  was  doing 
it.  Can  you  believe  me?  " 

And,  as  he  made  no  response :  "  I  did  not  dream 
you  would  have  to  resign.  Do  you  believe  me?  " 

"  There  is  no  choice,"  he  said  coldly.  "  Drop  the 
subject!" 

"  That  is  brutal.  I  never  thought — "  She  forced 
a  smile  and  drew  her  glass  toward  her.  The  straw- 
tinted  wine  slopped  over  and  frothed  on  the  white  skin 
of  her  arm. 

"Well,"  she  breathed,  "this  ghastly  dinner  is 
nearly  ended." 

He  nodded  pleasantly. 

93 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  And — Phil?  " — a  bit  tremulous. 

"What?" 

"Was  it  all  my  fault?  I  mean  in  the  beginning? 
Fve  wanted  to  ask  you  that — to  know  your  view  of 
it.  Was  it?" 

"  No.     It  was  mine,  most  of  it." 

"  Not  all— not  half!  We  did  not  know  how;  that 
is  the  wretched  explanation  of  it  all." 

"  And  we  could  never  have  learned ;  that's  the  rest 
of  the  answer.  But  the  fault  is  not  there." 

"  I  know ;  '  better  to  bear  the  ills  we  have.' ' 

"  Yes ;  more  respectable  to  bear  them.  Let  us  drop 
this  in  decency's  name,  Alixe ! " 

After  a  silence,  she  began :  "  One  more  thing — I 
must  know  it ;  and  I  am  going  to  ask  you — if  I  may. 
Shall  I?" 

He  smiled  cordially,  and  she  laughed  as  though 
confiding  a  delightful  bit  of  news  to  him : 

"  Do  you  regard  me  as  sufficiently  important  to 
dislike  me  ?  " 

"  I  do  not — dislike  you." 

"  Is  it  stronger  than  dislike,  Phil?  " 

"  Y-es." 

"Contempt?" 

"  No." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It  is  that — I  have  not  yet — become — reconciled." 

"To  my— folly?" 

"  To  mine." 

She  strove  to  laugh  lightly,  and  failing,  raised  her 
glass  to  her  lips  again. 

"  Now  you  know,"  he  said,  pitching  his  tones 
still  lower.  "  I  am  glad  after  all  that  we  have  had 
this  plain  understanding.  I  have  never  felt  unkindly 

94 


UNDER    THE  ASHES 


toward  you.  I  can't.  What  you  did  I  might  have 
prevented  had  I  known  enough ;  but  I  cannot  help 
it  now;  nor  can  you  if  you  would." 

"  If  I  would,"  she  repeated  gaily — for  the  people 
opposite  were  staring. 

"  We  are  done  for,"  he  said,  nodding  carelessly  to 
a  servant  to  refill  his  glass ;  "  and  I  abide  by  condi 
tions  because  I  choose  to;  not,"  he  added  contemptu 
ously,  "  because  a  complacent  law  has  tethered  you 
to — to  the  thing  that  has  crawled  up  on  your  knees  to 
have  its  ears  rubbed." 

The  level  insult  to  her  husband  stunned  her ;  she 
sat  there,  upright,  the  white  smile  stamped  on  her 
stiffened  lips,  fingers  tightening  about  the  stem  of  her 
wine-glass. 

He  began  to  toss  bread  crumbs  to  the  scarlet  fish, 
laughing  to  himself  in  an  ugly  way.  "  /  wish  to 
punish  you?  Why,  Alixe,  only  look  at  him ! — Look  at 
his  gold  wristlets ;  listen  to  his  simper,  his  lisp.  Little 
girl — oh,  little  girl,  what  have  you  done  to  yourself? 
— for  you  have  done  nothing  to  me,  child,  that  can 
match  it  in  sheer  atrocity !  " 

Her  colour  was  long  in  returning. 

"  Philip,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "  I  don't  think  I  can 
stand  this " 

"  Yes,  you  can." 

"  I  am  too  close  to  the  wall.     I " 

"  Talk  to  Scott  Innis.  Take  him  away  from  Rosa 
mund  Fane;  that  will  tide  you  over.  Or  feed  those 
fool  fish ;  like  this !  Look  how  they  rush  and  flap  and 
spatter!  That's  amusing,  isn't  it — for  people  with 
the  intellects  of  canaries.  .  .  .  Will  you  please  try  to 
say  something?  Mrs.  T.  West  is  exhibiting  the  rest 
less  symptoms  of  a  hen  turkey  at  sundown  and  we'll  all 

95 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


go  to  roost  in  another  minute.  .  .  .  Don't  shiver  that 
way !  " 

"  I  c-can't  control  it ;  I  will  in  a  moment.  .  .  .  Give 
me  a  chance;  talk  to  me,  Phil." 

"  Certainly.  The  season  has  been  unusually  gay 
and  the  opera  most  stupidly  brilliant ;  stocks  continue 
to  fluctuate ;  another  old  woman  was  tossed  and  gored 
by  a  mad  motor  this  morning.  .  .  .  More  time,  Alixe? 
.  .  .  With  pleasure;  Mrs.  Vendenning  has  bought  a 
third-rate  castle  in  Wales ;  a  man  was  found  dead  with 
a  copy  of  the  Tribune  in  his  pocket — the  verdict  being 
in  accordance  with  fact ;  the  Panama  Canal " 

But  it  was  over  at  last ;  a  flurry  of  sweeping  skirts ; 
ranks  of  black  and  white  in  escort  to  the  passage  of 
the  fluttering  silken  procession. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said ;  "  I  am  not  staying  for  the 
dance." 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  pleasantly ;  "  I  wish  you 
better  fortune  for  the  future.  I'm  sorry  I  was 
rough." 

He  was  not  staying,  either.  A  dull  excitement  pos 
sessed  him,  resembling  suspense — as  though  he  were 
awaiting  a  denouement ;  as  though  there  was  yet  some 
crisis  to  come. 

Several  men  leaned  forward  to  talk  to  him;  he 
heard  without  heeding,  replied  at  hazard,  lighted  his 
cigar  with  the  others,  and  leaned  back,  his  coffee  be 
fore  him — a  smiling,  attractive  young  fellow,  appar 
ently  in  lazy  enjoyment  of  the  time  and  place  and 
without  one  care  in  the  world  he  found  so  pleasant. 

For  a  while  his  mind  seemed  to  be  absolutely  blank ; 
voices  were  voices  only;  he  saw  lights,  and  figures 
moving  through  a  void.  Then  reality  took  shape 
sharply ;  and  his  pulses  began  again  hammering  out  the 

96 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


irregular  measure  of  suspense,  though  what  it  was  that 
he  was  awaiting,  what  expecting,  Heaven  alone  knew. 

And  after  a  while  he  found  himself  in  the  ball 
room. 

The  younger  set  was  arriving;  he  recognised  sev 
eral  youthful  people,  friends  of  Eileen  Erroll;  and 
taking  his  bearings  among  these  bright,  fresh  faces — 
amid  this  animated  throng,  constantly  increased  by  the 
arrival  of  others,  he  started  to  find  his  hostess,  now 
lost  to  sight  in  the  breezy  circle  of  silk  and  lace  set 
ting  in  from  the  stairs. 

He  heard  names  announced  which  meant  nothing 
to  him,  which  stirred  no  memory ;  names  which  sounded 
vaguely  familiar ;  names  which  caused  him  to  turn 
quickly — but  seldom  were  the  faces  as  familiar  as  the 
names. 

He  said  to  a  girl,  behind  whose  chair  he  was 
standing:  "All  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters  are 
coming  here  to  confound  me;  I  hear  a  Miss  Innis  an 
nounced,  but  it  turns  out  to  be  her  younger  sister " 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  know  my  name?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  he  said  frankly,  "  do  you  know  mine?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  do ;  I  listened  breathlessly  when 
somebody  presented  you  wholesale  at  your  sister's  the 
other  day.  I'm  Rosamund  Fane.  You  might  as  well 
be  instructed  because  you're  to  take  me  in  at  the 
Orchils'  next  Thursday  night,  I  believe." 

"  Rosamund  Fane,"  he  repeated  coolly.  "  I  wonder 
how  we've  avoided  each  other  so  consistently  this  win 
ter?  I  never  before  had  a  good  view  of  you,  though 
I  heard  you  talking  to  young  Innis  at  dinner.  And 
yet,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  if  I  had  been  instructed  to 
look  around  and  select  somebody  named  Rosamund,  I 
certainly  should  have  decided  on  you." 

97 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  A  compliment  ?  "  she  asked,  raising  her  delicate 
eyebrows. 

"  Ask  yourself,"  he  said. 

"  I  do ;  and  I  get  snubbed." 

And,  smiling  still,  he  said :  "  Do  you  know  the  most 
mischievous  air  that  Schubert  ever  worried  us  with?  " 

"  '  Rosamund,'  "  she  said ;  "  and — thank  you,  Cap 
tain  Selwyn."  She  had  coloured  to  the  hair. 

"  '  Rosamund,'  "  he  nodded  carelessly — "  the  most 
mischievous  of  melodies — "  He  stopped  short,  then 
coolly  resumed :  "  That  mischievous  quality  is  largely  a 
matter  of  accident,  I  fancy.  Schubert  never  meant 
that  '  Rosamund  '  should  interfere  with  anybody's  busi 
ness." 

"  And — when  did  you  first  encounter  the  malice  in 
4  Rosamund,'  Captain  Selwyn  ?  "  she  asked  with  perfect 
self-possession. 

He  did  not  answer  immediately ;  his  smile  had  died 
out.  Then :  "  The  first  time  I  really  understood  '  Rosa 
mund  '  was  when  I  heard  Rosamund  during  a  very  de 
lightful  dinner." 

She  said :  "  If  a  woman  keeps  at  a  man  long  enough 
she'll  extract  compliments  or  yawns."  And  looking  up 
at  a  chinless  young  man  who  had  halted  near  her: 
"  George,  Captain  Selwyn  has  acquired  such  a  charm 
ingly  Oriental  fluency  during  his  residence  in  the  East 
that  I  thought — if  you  ever  desired  to  travel  again — " 
She  shrugged,  and,  glancing  at  Selwyn :  "  Have  you 
met  my  husband?  Oh,  of  course." 

They  exchanged  a  commonplace  or  two,  then  other 
people  separated  them  without  resistance  on  their  part. 
And  Selwyn  found  himself  drifting,  mildly  interested 
in  the  vapid  exchange  of  civilities  which  cost  nobody  a 
mental  effort. 


THE 


••-;_:;.:'_.  ;    :.-: .::   .:.   N  ."-• 
Exception  of  Mrs.  Fane: 
anger — mnst  haTe  been  y< 
ting  of  that  Yulatfle  f red 

a  |M  •  fnmi   almost  too  delicate  to 
that  the  wast  profound  capacity  for 


And   Mrs.   T.   WcA  Minster   dbengaged  herself 
from  the  throng  with  intention  as  he 

Xo — and  he  was  so  sorry;  and  it  i 
of  hk  hostess  to  want  him.' but  he  was  not 
for  the  dance. 

So  much  for  the  hostess,  who  stood  there  Massive 
and  gem-laden,  her  kindly  and  punted  features  tinted 

-Jf  m'nccvac;  mom  JftV— but  you  acted  fike  a  per- 

you  forgive  a  very  much  mortified  old  lady  who  is 
reattT  and  truly  fond  of  your  ~ 

He  laughed,  holding  "her  fat,  ringed  hands  in  both 
of  his  with  afl  the  attraethv  deference  that  explained 
Rising  excitement  had  sent  the  colour 
face  and  cleared  his  pleasant  gray  eyes;  and  he 


bent  a  trine  before  the  enamdkd  and  be jewdkd 

-  Forgire  you  r  ^  he  npeated  with  a  laugh  of 
test:  *  on  the"  contrary.  I  thank  iron 

C—      -_-l-      -~f     mV  _  •        _1 •  f 

_> 7  i.  _    r   ni-r > .   j  ~. _\ T~.'.'. r. ^    -  r ~". •£ r.   ^ 

mam?" 

99 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Looking  after  him  as  he  made  his  way  toward  the 
cloak  room :  "  The  boy  is  thoroughbred,"  she  reflected 
cynically ;  "  and  the  only  amusement  anybody  can  get 
out  of  it  will  be  at  my  expense!  Rosamund  is  a  per 
fect  cat !  " 

He  had  sent  for  his  cab,  w^ch,  no  doubt,  was  in 
line  somewhere,  wedged  among  tnjLjranks  of  carriages 
stretching  east  and  west  along  tjrie  snowy  street ;  and 
he  stood  on  the  thick  crimson  Barpet  under  the  awn 
ing  while  it  was  being  summoned.  A  few  people  like 
himself  were  not  staying  fdiNthe  dance;  others  who 
had  dined  by  prearrangeme»K  with  other  hostesses, 
had  now  begun  to  arrive,  jfciid\the  confusion  grew  as 
coach  and  brougham  anHT  motor  came  swaying  up 
through  the  fallmg^now  to  deposit  their  jewelled 
cargoes  of  silks  y,nd^5ces  under  the  vast  awning 
picketed  by  policemen  and  lined  with  fur-swathed 
grooms  and  spimfiej^gged  chauffeurs  in  coats  of 
pony-skin.  p.  \  [ 

The  CornemjfsNSuydams,  emerging  from  the  house, 
offered  Selwyny^pmieau  room,  but  he  smilingly  de 
clined,  having  a  mrnd  for  solitude  and  the  Lenox  Club. 
A  phalanx  of  oebutantes,  opera  bound,  also  left.  Then 
the  tide  set  heavily  the  other  way,  and  there  seemed 
no  end  to  the  line  of  arriving  vehicles  and  guests,  until 
he  heard  a  name  pronounced ;  a  policeman  warned  back 
an  approaching  Fiat ;  and  Selwyn  saw  Mrs.  Ruthven, 
enveloped  in  white  furs,  step  from  the  portal. 

She  saw  him  as  he  moved  back,  nodded,  passed 
directly  to  her  brougham,  and  set  foot  on  the  step. 
Pausing  here,  she  looked  about  her,  right  and  left,  then 
over  her  shoulder  straight  back  at  Selwyn ;  and  as  she 
stood  in  silence  evidently  awaiting  him,  it  became  im- 

100 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


possible  for  him  any  longer  to  :misurx}er3taij,d  without 
a  public  affront  to  her.    •--  -  ''•  *—•-  '*     '»•'>'•<• 

When  he  started  toward  her  she  spoke  to  her  maid, 
and  the  latter  moved  aside  with  a  word  to  the  groom 
in  waiting. 

"  My  maid  will  dismiss  your  carriage,"  she  said 
pleasantly  when  he  halted  beside  her.  "  There  is  one 
thing  more  which  I  must  say  to  you." 

Was  this  what  he  had  expected  hazard  might  bring 
to  him? — was  this  the  prophecy  of  his  hammering 
pulses  ? 

"  Please  hurry  before  people  come  out,"  she  added, 
and  entered  the  brougham. 

"  I  can't  do  this,"  he  muttered. 

"  I've  sent  away  my  maid,"  she  said.  "  Nobody  has 
noticed;  those  are  servants  out  there.  Will  you  please 
come  before  anybody  arriving  or  departing  does  no 
tice?  " 

And,  as  he  did  not  move :  "  Are  you  going  to  make 
me  conspicuous  by  this  humiliation  before  servants?  " 

He  said  something  between  his  set  teeth  and  en 
tered  the  brougham. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you've  done  ?  "  he  demanded 
harshly. 

"  Yes ;  nothing  yet.  But  you  would  have  done 
enough  to  stir  this  borough  if  you  had  delayed  an 
other  second." 

"  Your  maid  saw " 

"  My  maid  is  my  maid." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  corner,  gray  eyes  narrowing. 

"  Naturally,"  he  said,  "  you  are  the  one  to  be  con 
sidered,  not  the  man  in  the  case." 

"  Thank  you.     Are  you  the  man  in  the  case?  " 

"  There  is  no  case,"  he  said  coolly. 
101 


TH&  YOUNGER   SET 


n-  ^bj-*.wqrry  about  -me?  " 

He  folded  his -arms,  sullenly  at  bay;  yet  had  no 
premonition  of  what  to  expect  from  her. 

"  You  were  very  brutal  to  me,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  I  know  it ;  and  I  did  not  intend  to  be.  The  words 
came." 

"  You  had  me  at  your  mercy ;  and  showed  me 
little — a  very  little  at  first.  Afterward,  none." 

"  The  words  came,"  he  repeated ;  "  I'm  sick  with 
self-contempt,  I  tell  you." 

She  set  her  white-gloved  elbow  on  the  window  sill 
and  rested  her  chin  in  her  palm. 

"  That — money,"  she  said  with  an  effort.  "  You 
set — some — aside  for  me." 

"  Half,"  he  nodded  calmly. 

"Why?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  Why?  I  did  not  ask  for  it?  There  was  nothing 
in  the — the  legal  proceedings  to  lead  you  to  believe 
that  I  desired  it ;  was  there  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,"  her  breath  came  unsteadily,  "  what 
was  there  in  me  to  make  you  think  I  would  accept  it  ?  " 

He  did  not  reply. 

"  Answer  me.     This  is  the  time  to  answer  me." 

66  The  answer  is  simple  enough,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Together  we  had  made  a  failure  of  part 
nership.  When  that  partnership  was  dissolved,  there 
remained  the  joint  capital  to  be  divided.  And  I 
divided  it.  Why  not?" 

"  That  capital  was  yours  in  the  beginning ;  not 
mine.  What  I  had  of  my  own  you  never  controlled ; 
and  I  took  it  with  me  when  I  went." 

"  It  was  very  little,"  he  said. 
102 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"What  of  that?  Did  that  concern  }rou?  Did 
you  think  I  would  have  accepted  anything  from  you? 
A  thousand  times  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  notifying 
you  through  attorney  that  the  deposit  now  standing 
in  my  name  is  at  your  disposal." 

"  Why  didn't  you  notify  me  then?  "  he  asked,  red 
dening  to  the  temples. 

"  Because — I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  you — by  doing 
it  that  way.  .  .  .  And  I  had  not  the  courage  to  say 
it  kindly  over  my  own  signature.  That  is  why,  Cap 
tain  Selwyn." 

And,  as  he  remained  silent :  "  That  is  what  I  had 
to  say ;  not  all — because — I  wish  to — to  thank  you  for 
offering  it.  ...  You  did  not  have  very  much,  either; 
and  you  divided  what  you  had.  So  I  thank  you — and  I 
return  it."  .  .  .  The  tension  forced  her  to  attempt  a 
laugh.  "  So  we  stand  once  more  on  equal  terms ;  un 
less  you  have  anything  of  mine  to  return " 

"  I  have  your  photograph,"  he  said. 

The  silence  lasted  until  he  straightened  up  and, 
rubbing  the  fog  from  the  window  glass,  looked  out. 

"  We  are  in  the  Park,"  he  remarked,  turning 
toward  her. 

"  Yes ;  I  did  not  know  how  long  it  might  take  to 
explain  matters.  You  are  free  of  me  now  whenever 
you  wish." 

He  picked  up  the  telephone,  hesitated:  "Home?" 
he  inquired  with  an  effort.  And  at  the  forgotten  word 
they  looked  at  one  another  in  stricken  silence. 

4  Y-yes ;  to  your  home  first,  if  you  will  let  me  drop 
you  there " 

"  Thank  you ;  that  might  be  imprudent." 

"  No,  I  think  not.  You  say  you  are  living  at  the 
Gerards?" 

8  103 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Yes,  temporarily.  But  I've  already  taken  an 
other  place." 

"Vhere?" 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  bachelor's  kennel — a  couple  of 
rooms " 

"Where,  please?" 

"  Near  Lexington  and  Sixty-sixth.  I  could  go 
there ;  it's  only  partly  furnished  yet " 

"  Then  tell  Hudson  to  drive  there." 

"  Thank  you,  but  it  is  not  necessary " 

"  Please  let  me ;  tell  Hudson,  or  I  will." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said ;  and  gave  the  order. 

Silence  grew  between  them  like  a  wall.  She  lay 
back  in  her  corner,  swathed  to  the  eyes  in  her  white 
furs ;  he  in  his  corner  sat  upright,  arms  loosely  folded, 
staring  ahead  at  nothing.  After  a  while  he  rubbed  the 
moisture  from  the  pane  again. 

"  Still  in  the  Park !  He  must  have  driven  us 
nearly  to  Harlem  Mere.  It  is  the  Mere !  See  the 
cafe  lights  yonder.  It  all  looks  rather  gay  through 
the  snow." 

"  Very  gay,"  she  said,  without  moving.  And,  a 
moment  later :  "  Will  you  tell  me  something  ?  .  .  . 
You  see  " — with  a  forced  laugh — "  I  can't  keep  my 
mind — from  it." 

"From  what?"  he  asked. 

"  The — tragedy ;  ours." 

"  It  has  ceased  to  be  that;  hasn't  it?  " 

"Has  it?  You  said — you  said  that  w-what  I  did 
to  you  was  n-not  as  terrible  as  what  I  d-did  to  myself." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  admitted  grimly. 

"  Well,  then,  may  I  ask  my  question?  " 

"  Ask  it,  child." 

"  Then — are  you  happy  ?  " 
104 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


He  did  not  answer. 

"  — Because  I  desire  it,  Philip.  I  want  you  to  be. 
You  will  be,  won't  you?  I  did  not  dream  that  I  was 
ruining  your  army  career  when  I — went  mad " 

"  How  did  it  happen,  Alixe?  "  he  asked,  with  a  cold 
curiosity  that  chilled  her.  "  How  did  it  come  about? — 
wretched  as  we  seemed  to  be  together — unhappy,  in 
capable  of  understanding  each  other " 

"Phil!     There  were  days " 

He  raised  his  eyes. 

"  You  speak  only  of  the  unhappy  ones,"  she  said ; 
"  but  there  were  moments " 

"  Yes ;  I  know  it.     And  so  I  ask  you,  why  ?  " 

"  Phil,  I  don't  know.  There  was  that  last  bitter 
quarrel — the  night  you  left  for  Leyte  after  the  dance. 
.  .  .  I — it  all  grew  suddenly  intolerable.  You  seemed 
so  horribly  unreal — everything  seemed  unreal  in  that 
ghastly  city — you,  I,  our  marriage  of  crazy  impulse — 
the  people,  the  sunlight,  the  deathly  odours,  'the  tor 
turing,  endless  creak  of  the  punkha.  ...  It  was  not 
a  question  of — of  love,  of  anger,  of  hate.  I  tell  you 
I  was  stunned — I  had  no  emotions  concerning  you  or 
myself — after  that  last  scene — only  a  stupefied,  blind 
necessity  to  get  away ;  a  groping  instinct  to  move  tow 
ard  home — to  make  my  way  home  and  be  rid  for  ever 
of  the  dream  that  drugged  me!  ...  And  then — and 
then " 

"  He  came,"  said  Selwyn  very  quietly.     "  Go  on." 

But  she  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

"Alixe!" 

She  shook  her  head,  closing  her  eyes. 

"Little  girl!— oh,  little  girl!"  he  said  softly,  the 
old  familiar  phrase  finding  its  own  way  to  his  lips — 
and  she  trembled  slightly ;  "  was  there  no  other  way 

105 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


but  that?  Had  marriage  made  the  world  such  a 
living  hell  for  you  that  there  was  no  other  way  but 
that?" 

"  Phil,  I  helped  to  make  it  a  hell." 

"  Yes — because  I  was  pitiably  inadequate  to  design 
anything  better  for  us.  I  didn't  know  how.  I  didn't 
understand.  I,  the  architect  of  our  future — failed." 

"  It  was  worse  than  that,  Phil ;  we  " — she  looked 
blindly  at  him — "  we  had  yet  to  learn  what  love  might 
be.  We  did  not  know.  ...  If  we  could  have  waited 
—  only  waited !  —  perhaps  —  because  there  were  mo 
ments — "  She  flushed  crimson. 

"  I  could  not  make  you  love  me,"  he  repeated ;  "  I 
did  not  know  how." 

"  Because  you  yourself  had  not  learned  how.  But 
— at  times — now  looking  back  to  it — I  think — I  think 
we  were  very  near  to  it — at  moments.  .  .  .  And  then 
that  dreadful  dream  closed  down  on  us  again.  .  .  . 
And  then — the  end." 

"  If  you  could  have  held  out,"  he  breathed ;  "  if  I 
could  have  helped !  It  was  I  who  failed  you  after  all !  " 

For  a  long  while  they  sat  in  silence;  Mrs.  Ruth- 
ven's  white  furs  now  covered  her  face.  At  last  the 
carriage  stopped. 

As  he  sprang  to  the  curb  he  became  aware  of  an 
other  vehicle  standing  in  front  of  the  house — a  cab — 
from  which  Mrs.  Ruthven's  maid  descended. 

"What  is  she  doing  here?"  he  asked,  turning  in 
astonishment  to  Mrs.  Ruthven. 

"  Phil,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  knew  you  had 
taken  this  place.  Gerald  told  me.  Forgive  me — but 
when  I  saw  you  under  the  awning  it  came  to  me  in  a 
flash  what  to  do.  And  I've  done  it.  ...  Are  you 
sorry?  " 

106 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"  No.  .  .  .  Did  Gerald  tell  you  that  I  had  taken 
this  place?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  asked  him." 

Selwyn  looked  at  her  gravely;  and  she  looked  him 
very  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"  Before  I  go — may  I  say  one  more  word  ?  "  he  asked 
gently. 

"  Yes — if  you  please.     Is  it  about  Gerald?  " 

"  Yes.  Don't  let  him  gamble.  .  .  .  You  saw  the 
signature  on  that  check?  " 

"  Yes,  Phil." 
-    "  Then  you  understand.    Don't  let  him  do  it  again." 

"No.     And— Phil?" 

"What?" 

"  That  check  is — is  deposited  to  your  credit — with 
the  rest.  I  have  never  dreamed  of  using  it."  Her 
cheeks  were  afire  again,  but  with  shame  this  time. 

"  You  will  have  to  accept  it,  Alixe." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  You  must !  Don't  you  see  you  will  affront  Ger 
ald?  He  has  repaid  me;  that  check  is  not  mine,  nor 
is  it  his." 

"  I  can't  take  it,"  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "  What 
shall  I  do  with  it?" 

"  There  are  ways — hospitals,  if  you  care  to.  ... 
Good-night,  child." 

She  stretched  out  her  gloved  arm  to  him;  he  took 
her  hand  very  gently  and  retained  it  while  he  spoke. 

"  I  wish  you  happiness,"  he  said ;  "  I  ask  your  for 
giveness." 

"  Give  me  mine,  then." 

"  Yes — if  there  is  anything  to  forgive.  Good 
night." 

"  Good-night — boy,"  she  gasped. 
107 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


He  turned  sharply,  quivering  under  the  familiar 
name.  Her  maid,  standing  in  the  snow,  moved  for 
ward,  and  he  motioned  her  to  enter  the  brougham. 

"  Home,"  he  said  unsteadily ;  and  stood  there  very 
still  for  a  minute  or  two,  even  after  the  carriage  had 
whirled  away  into  the  storm.  Then,  looking  up  at  the 
house,  he  felt  for  his  keys;  but  a  sudden  horror  of 
being  alone  arrested  him,  and  he  stepped  back,  calling 
out  to  his  cabman,  who  was  already  turning  his  horse's 
head,  "  Wait  a  moment ;  I  think  I'll  drive  back  to  Mrs. 
Gerard's.  .  .  .  And  take  your  time." 

It  was  still  early — lacking  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
midnight — when  he  arrived.  Nina  had  retired,  but 
Austin  sat  in  the  library,  obstinately  plodding  through 
the  last  chapters  of  a  brand-new  novel. 

"  This  is  a  wretched  excuse  for  sitting  up,"  he 
yawned,  laying  the  book  flat  on  the  table,  but  still  open. 
"  I  ought  never  to  be  trusted  alone  with  any  book." 
Then  he  removed  his  reading  glasses,  yawned  again, 
and  surveyed  Selwyn  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Very  pretty,"  he  said.  "  Well,  how  are  the  yellow 
ones,  Phil?  Or  was  it  all  debutante  and  slop-twaddle?  " 

"  Few  from  the  cradle,  but  bunches  were  arriving 
for  the  dance  as  I  left." 

"  Eileen  went  at  half-past  eleven." 

"  I  didn't  know  she  was  going,"  said  Selwyn,  sur 
prised. 

"She  didn't  want  you  to.  The  Playful  Kitten 
business,  you  know — frisks  apropos  of  nothing  to  frisk 
about.  But  we  all  fancied  you'd  stay  for  the  dance." 
He  yawned  mightily,  and  gazed  at  Selwyn  with  ruddy 
gravity. 

"Whisk?"  he  inquired. 
108 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"  No." 

"  Cigar  ?  " — mildly  urgent. 

"  No,  thanks." 

"Bed?" 

"  I  think  so.  But  don't  wait  for  me,  Austin.  .  .  . 
Is  that  the  evening  paper?  Where  is  St.  Paul?  " 

Austin  passed  it  across  the  table  and  sat  for  a  mo 
ment,  alternately  yawning  and  skimming  the  last  chap 
ter  of  his  novel. 

"  Stuff  and  rubbish,  mush  and  piffle !  "  he  muttered, 
closing  the  book  and  pushing  it  from  him  across  the 
table ;  "  love,  as  usual,  grossly  out  of  proportion  to 
the  ensemble.  That  theory  of  the  earth's  rotation,  you 
know;  all  these  absurd  books  are  built  on  it.  Why  do 
men  read  'em?  They  grin  when  they  do  it!  Love  is 
only  the  sixth  sense — just  one-sixth  of  a  man's  exist 
ence.  The  other  five-sixths  of  his  time  he's  using  his 
other  senses  working  for  a  living." 

Selwyn  looked  up  over  his  newspaper,  then  lowered 
and  folded  it. 

"  In  these  novels,"  continued  Gerard,  irritably, 
"  five-sixths  of  the  pages  are  devoted  to  love ;  every 
thing  else  is  subordinated  to  it;  it  controls  all  motives, 
it  initiates  all  action,  it  drugs  reason,  it  prolongs  the 
tuppenny  suspense,  sustains  cheap  situations,  and  pro 
duces  agonisingly  profitable  climaxes  for  the  authors. 
.  .  .  Does  it  act  that  way  in  real  life?  " 

"  Not  usually,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  Nobody  else  thinks  so,  either.  Why  doesn't  some 
body  tell  the  truth?  Why  doesn't  somebody  tell  us 
how  a  man  sees  a  nice  girl  and  gradually  begins  to  tag 
after  her  when  business  hours  are  over?  A  respectable 
man  is  busy  from  eight  or  nine  until  five  or  six.  In 
the  evening  he's  usually  at  the  club,  or  dining  out,  or 

109 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


asleep ;  isn't  he  ?  Well,  then,  how  much  time  does  it 
leave  for  love?  Do  the  problem  yourself  in  any  way 
you  wish ;  the  result  is  a  fraction  every  time ;  and  that 
fraction  represents  the  proper  importance  of  the  love 
interest  in  its  proper  ratio  to  a  man's  entire  life." 

He  sat  up,  greatly  pleased  with  himself  at  having 
reduced  sentiment  to  a  fixed  proportion  in  the  in 
gredients  of  life. 

"  If  I  had  time,"  he  said,  "  I  could  tell  them  how 
to  write  a  book — "  He  paused,  musing,  while  the  con 
fident  smile  spread.  Selwyn  stared  at  space. 

"  What  does  a  young  man  know  about  love,  any 
way  ?  "  demanded  his  brother-in-law. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Selwyn  listlessly. 

"  Of  course  not.  Look  at  Gerald.  He  sits  on  the 
stairs  with  a  pink  and  white  ninny;  and  at  the  next 
party  he  does  it  with  another.  That's  wholesome  and 
natural;  and  that's  the  way  things  really  are.  Look 
at  Eileen.  Do  you  suppose  she  has  the  slightest  sus 
picion  of  what  love  is  ?  " 

"  Naturally  not,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  Correct.  Only  a  fool  novelist  would  attribute 
the  deeper  emotions  to  a  child  like  that.  What  does  she 
know  about  anything?  Love  isn't  a  mere  emotion, 
either — that  is  all  fol-de-rol  and  fizzle! — it's  the  false 
basis  of  modern  romance.  Love  is  reason — not  a  ner 
vous  phenomenon.  Love  is  a  sane  passion,  founded  on 
a  basic  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  That's  what  love 
is ;  the  rest !  " — he  lifted  the  book,  waved  it  contemptu 
ously,  and  pushed  it  farther  away — "  the  rest  is  neu 
ritis ;  the  remedy  a  pill.  I'm  going  to  bed;  are  you?  " 

But  Selwyn  had  lighted  a  cigar,  and  was  again 
unfolding  his  evening  paper;  so  his  brother-in-law 
moved  ponderously  away,  yawning  frightfully  at  every 

110 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


heavy  stride,  and  the  younger  man  settled  back  in  his 
chair,  a  fragrant  cigar  balanced  between  his  strong, 
slim  fingers,  one  leg  dropped  loosely  over  the  other. 
After  a  while  the  newspaper  fell  to  the  floor. 

He  sat  there  without  moving  for  a  long  time;  his 
cigar,  burning  close,  had  gone  out.  The  reading-lamp 
spread  a  circle  of  soft  light  over  the  floor ;  on  the  edge 
of  it  lay  Kit-Ki,  placid,  staring  at  him.  After  a  while 
he  noticed  her.  "You?"  he  said  absently;  "you  hid 
so  they  couldn't  put  you  out." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  began  to  purr. 

"Oh,  it's  all  very  well,"  he  nodded;  "but  it's 
against  the  law.  However,"  he  added,  "  I'm  rather 
tired  of  rules  and  regulations  myself.  Besides,  the 
world  outside  is  very  cold  to-night.  Purr  away,  old 
lady ;  I'm  going  to  bed." 

But  he  did  not  stir. 

A  little  later,  the  fire  having  burned  low,  he  rose, 
laid  a  pair  of  heavy  logs  across  the  coals,  dragged 
his  chair  to  the  hearth,  and  settled  down  in  it  deeply. 
Then  he  lifted  the  cat  to  his  knees.  Kit-Ki  sang  bliss 
fully,  spreading  and  relaxing  her  claws  at  intervals  as 
she  gazed  at  the  mounting  blaze. 

"  I'm  going  to  bed,  Kit-Ki,"  he  repeated  absently, 
"  because  that's  a  pretty  good  place  for  me  .  .  .  far 
better  than  sitting  up  here  with  you — and  conscience." 

But  he  only  lay  back  deeper  in  the  velvet  chair 
and  lighted  another  cigar. 

"  Kit-Ki,"  he  said,  "  the  words  men  utter  count  in 
the  reckoning;  but  not  as  heavily  as  the  words  men 
leave  unuttered :  and  what  a  man  does  scores  deeply ; 
but — alas  for  the  scars  of  the  deeds  he  has  left  un 
done." 

The  logs  were  now  wrapped  in  flame,  and  their  low 
111 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


mellow  roaring  mingled  to  a  monotone  with  the  dron 
ing  of  the  cat  on  his  knees. 

Long  after  his  cigar  burnt  bitter,  he  sat  with  eyes 
fixed  on  the  blaze.  When  the  flames  at  last  began  to 
flicker  and  subside,  his  lids  fluttered,  then  drooped ;  but 
he  had  lost  all  reckoning  of  time  when  he  opened  them 
again  to  find  Miss  Erroll  in  furs  and  ball-gown  kneel 
ing  on  the  hearth  and  heaping  kindling  on  the  coals, 
and  her  pretty  little  Alsatian  maid  beside  her,  laying 
a  log  across  the  andirons. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  he  murmured,  confused ;  then 
rising  quickly,  "  Is  that  you,  Miss  Erroll?  What  time 
is  it?" 

"  Four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Captain  Selwyn,"  she 
said,  straightening  up  to  her  full  height.  "  This  room 
is  icy ;  are  you  frozen  ?  " 

Chilled  through,  he  stood  looking  about  in  a  dazed 
way,  incredulous  of  the  hour  and  of  his  own  slumber. 

"  I  was  conversing  with  Kit-Ki  a  moment  ago,"  he 
protested,  in  such  a  tone  of  deep  reproach  that  Eileen 
laughed  while  her  maid  relieved  her  of  furs  and  scarf. 

"  Susanne,  just  unhook  those  two  that  I  can't  man 
age;  light  the  fire  in  my  bedroom;  et  merci  bien,  ma 
petite!  " 

The  little  maid  vanished ;  Kit-Ki,  who  had  been  un 
ceremoniously  spilled  from  Selwyn's  knees,  sat  yawning, 
then  rose  and  walked  noiselessly  to  the  hearth. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  happened  to  do  it,"  he  mut 
tered,  still  abashed  by  his  plight. 

"  We  rekindled  the  fire  for  your  benefit,"  she  said ; 
"  you  had  better  use  it  before  you  retire."  And  she 
seated  herself  in  the  arm-chair,  stretching  out  her  un 
gloved  hands  to  the  blaze — smooth,  innocent  hands,  so 
soft,  so  amazingly  fresh  and  white. 

112 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


He  moved  a  step  forward  into  the  warmth,  stood 
a  moment,  then  reached  forward  for  a  chair  and  drew 
it  up  beside  hers. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  not  sleepy?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  ?  No,  not  in  the  least.  I  will  be  to-morrow, 
though." 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time?  " 

"  Yes— rather." 

"Wasn't  it  gay?" 

"Gay?     Oh,  very." 

Her  replies  were  unusually  short — almost  preoccu 
pied.  She  was  generally  more  communicative. 

"  You  danced  a  lot,  I  dare  say,"  he  ventured. 

"  Yes — a  lot,"  studying  the  floor. 

"Decent  partners?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"Who  was  there?" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  "  You  were  not  there,"  she 
said,  smiling. 

"  No ;  I  cut  it.  But  I  did  not  know  you  were  going ; 
you  said  nothing  about  it." 

"  Of  course,  you  would  have  stayed  if  you  had 
known,  Captain  Selwyn?  "  She  was  still  smiling. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied. 

"Would  you  really?" 

"  Why,  yes." 

There  was  something  not  perfectly  familiar  to  him 
in  the  girl's  bright  brevity,  in  her  direct  personal  in 
quiry  ;  for  between  them,  hitherto,  the  gaily  impersonal 
had  ruled  except  in  moments  of  lightest  badinage. 

"Was  it  an  amusing  dinner?"  she  asked,  in  her  turn. 

"  Rather."  Then  he  looked  up  at  her,  but  she  had 
stretched  her  slim  silk-shod  feet  to  the  fender,  and  her 
head  was  bent  aside,  so  that  he  could  see  only  the  curve 

113 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


of  the  cheek  and  the  little  close-set  ear  under  its  ruddy 
mass  of  gold. 

"  Who  was  there  ?  "  she  asked,  too,  carelessly. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak;  under  his  bronzed 
cheek  the  flat  muscles  stirred.  Had  some  meddling, 
malicious  fool  ventured  to  whisper  an  unfit  jest  to  this 
young  girl?  Had  a  word — or  a  smile  and  a  phrase 
cut  in  two — awakened  her  to  a  sorry  wisdom  at  his  ex 
pense?  Something  had  happened;  and  the  idea  stirred 
him  to  wrath — as  when  a  child  is  wantonly  frightened 
or  a  dumb  creature  misused. 

"What  did  you  ask  me?  "  he  inquired  gently. 

"  I  asked  you  who  was  there,  Captain  Selwyn." 

He  recalled  some  names,  and  laughingly  mentioned 
his  dinner  partner's  preference  for  Harmon.  She  lis 
tened  absently,  her  chin  nestling  in  her  palm,  only  the 
close-set,  perfect  ear  turned  toward  him. 

"  Who  led  the  cotillon?  "  he  asked. 

"  Jack  Ruthven — dancing  with  Rosamund  Fane." 

She  drew  her  feet  from  the  fender  and  crossed 
them,  still  turned  away  from  him ;  and  so  they  remained 
in  silence  until  again  she  shifted  her  position,  almost 
impatiently. 

"  You  are  very  tired,"  he  said. 

"  No ;  wide  awake." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  best  for  you  to  go  to  bed?  " 

"  No.     But  you  may  go." 

And,  as  he  did  not  stir :  "  I  mean  that  you  are  not  to 
sit  here  because  I  do."  And  she  looked  around  at  him. 

"  What  has  gone  wrong,  Eileen  ?  "  he  said  quietly. 

He  had  never  before  used  her  given  name,  and  she 
flushed  up. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  Captain  Selwyn. 
Why  do  you  ask?  " 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"  Yes,  there  is,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  not,  I  tell  vou- 


4i  — And,  if  it  is  something  you  cannot  understand," 
he  continued  pleasantly,  "  perhaps  it  might  be  well  to 
ask  Nina  to  explain  it  to  you." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  explain." 

"  — Because,"  he  went  on,  very  gently,  "  one  is 
sometimes  led  by  malicious  suggestion  to  draw  false 
and  unpleasant  inferences  from  harmless  facts " 

"  Captain  Selwyn " 

"  Yes,  Eileen.'r 

But  she  could  not  go  on ;  speech  and  thought  itself 
remained  sealed ;  only  a  confused  consciousness  of  being 
hurt  remained — somehow  to  be  remedied  by  something  he 
might  say — might  deny.  Yet  how  could  it  help  her  for 
him  to  deny  what  she  herself  refused  to  believe? — refused 
through  sheer  instinct  while  ignorant  of  its  meaning. 

Even  if  he  had  done  what  she  heard  Rosamund  Fane 
say  he  had  done,  it  had  remained  meaningless  to  her 
save  for  the  manner  of  the  telling.  But  now — but  now ! 
Why  had  they  laughed — why  had  their  attitudes  and 
manner  and  the  disconnected  phrases  in  French  left  her 
flushed  and  rigid  among  the  idle  group  at  supper? 
Why  had  they  suddenly  seemed  to  remember  her  pres 
ence — and  express  their  abrupt  consciousness  of  it  in 
such  furtive  signals  and  silence? 

It  was  false,  anyway — whatever  it  meant.  And, 
anyway,  it  was  false  that  he  had  driven  away  in  Mrs. 
Ruthven's  brougham.  But,  oh,  if  he  had  only  stayed — 
if  he  had  only  remained ! — this  friend  of  hers  who  had 
been  so  nice  to  her  from  the  moment  he  came  into  her 
life — so  generous,  so  considerate,  so  lovely  to  her — and 
to  Gerald ! 

For  a  moment  the  glow  remained,  then  a  chill  doubt 
115 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


crept  in ;  would  he  have  remained  had  he  known  she  was 
to  be  there  ?  Where  did  he  go  after  the  dinner  ?  As  for 
what  they  said,  it  was  absurd.  And  yet — and  yet 

He  sat,  savagely  intent  upon  the  waning  fire ;  she 
turned  restlessly  again,  elbows  close  together  on  her 
knees,  face  framed  in  her  hands. 

"  You  ask  me  if  I  am  tired,"  she  said.  "  I  am — of 
the  froth  of  life." 

His  face  changed  instantly.  "  What  ? "  he  ex 
claimed,  laughing. 

But  she,  very  young  and  seriously  intent,  was  now 
wrestling  with  the  mighty  platitudes  of  youth.  First 
of  all  she  desired  to  know  what  meaning  life  held  for 
humanity.  Then  she  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  the  neces 
sity  for  human  happiness ;  duty  being  her  discovery  as 
sufficient  substitute. 

But  he  heard  in  her  childish  babble  the  minor  mur 
mur  of  an  undercurrent  quickening  for  the  first  time; 
and  he  listened  patiently  and  answered  gravely,  touched 
by  her  irremediable  loneliness. 

For  Nina  must  remain  but  a  substitute  at  best; 
what  was  wanting  must  remain  wanting;  and  race  and 
blood  must  interpret  for  itself  the  subtler  and  unasked 
questions  of  an  innocence  slowly  awaking  to  a  wisdom 
which  makes  us  all  less  wise. 

So  when  she  said  that  she  was  tired  of  gaiety,  that 
she  would  like  to  study,  he  said  that  he  would  take  up 
anything  she  chose  with  her.  And  when  she  spoke 
vaguely  of  a  life  devoted  to  good  works — of  the  wiser 
charity,  of  being  morally  equipped  to  aid  those  who 
required  material  aid,  he  was  very  serious,  but  ventured 
to  suggest  that  she  dance  her  first  season  through  as 
a  sort  of  flesh-mortifying  penance  preliminary  to  her 
spiritual  novitiate. 

116 


UNDER    THE   ASHES 


"  Yes,"  she  admitted  thoughtfully ;  "  you  are  right. 
Nina  would  feel  dreadfully  if  I  did  not  go  on — or  if 
she  imagined  I  cared  so  little  for  it  all.  But  one  sea 
son  is  enough  to  waste.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Quite  enough,"  he  assured  her. 

"  — And — why  should  I  ever  marry  ?  "  she  de 
manded,  lifting  her  clear,  sweet  eyes  to  his. 

"Why  indeed?"  he  repeated  with  conviction.  "I 
can  see  no  reason." 

"  I  am  glad  you  understand  me,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
not  a  marrying  woman." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  assured  her. 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  and  Nina — the  darling — doesn't 
understand.  Why,  what  do  you  suppose ! — but  would 
it  be  a  breach  of  confidence  to  anybody  if  I  told  you?  " 

"  I  doubt  it,"  he  said ;  "  what  is  it  you  have  to 
tell  me?" 

"  Only — it's  very,  very  silly — only  several  men — and 
one  nice  enough  to  know  better — Sudbury  Gray " 

"  Asked  you  to  marry  them  ?  "  he  finished,  nodding 
his  head  at  the  cat. 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  frankly  astonished ;  "  but  how 
did  you  know?  " 

"  Inferred  it.     Go  on." 

"  There  is  nothing  more,"  she  said,  without  embar 
rassment.  "  I  told  Nina  each  time ;  but  she  confused 
me  by  asking  for  details ;  and  the  details  were  too  fool 
ish  and  too  annoying  to  repeat.  ...  I  do  not  wish  to 
marry  anybody.  I  think  I  made  that  very  plain  to — 
everybody." 

"  Right  as  usual,"  he  said  cheerfully ;  "  you  are  too 
intelligent  to  consider  that  sort  of  thing  just  now." 

"  You  do  understand  me,  don't  you  ? "  she  said 
gratefully.  "  There  are  so  many  serious  things  in  life 

117 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


to  learn  and  to  think  of,  and  that  is  the  very  last  thing 
I  should  ever  consider.  ...  I  am  very,  very  glad  I 
had  this  talk  with  you.  Now  I  am  rested  and  I  shall 
retire  for  a  good  long  sleep." 

With  which  paradox  she  stood  up,  stifling  a  tiny 
yawn,  and  looked  smilingly  at  him,  all  the  old  sweet 
confidence  in  her  eyes.  Then,  suddenly  mocking: 

"  Who  suggested  that  you  call  me  by  my  first 
name?  "  she  asked. 

"  Some  good  angel  or  other.     May  I?  " 

"  If  you  please ;  I  rather  like  it.  But  I  couldn't 
very  well  call  you  anything  except  '  Captain  Selwyn.'  " 

"  On  account  of  my  age  ?  " 

"  Your  age  \  "  —  contemptuous  in  her  confident 
equality. 

"  Oh,  my  wisdom,  then  ?  You  probably  reverence 
me  too  deeply." 

"  Probably  not.  I  don't  know ;  I  couldn't  do  it — 
somehow " 

"  Try  it — unless  you're  afraid." 

"I'm  not  afraid!" 

"  Yes,  you  are,  if  you  don't  take  a  dare." 

"You  dare  me?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Philip,"  she  said,  hesitating,  adorable  in  her  em 
barrassment.  "  No !  No !  No !  I  can't  do  it  that  way 
in  cold  blood.  It's  got  to  be  '  Captain  Selwyn  '  .  .  . 
for  a  while,  anyway.  .  .  .  Good-night." 

He  took  her  outstretched  hand,  laughing ;  the  usual 
little  friendly  shake  followed;  then  she  turned  gaily 
away,  leaving  him  standing  before  the  whitening  ashes. 

He  thought  the  fire  was  dead ;  but  when  he  turned 
out  the  lamp  an  hour  later,  under  the  ashes  embers 
glowed  in  the  darkness  of  the  winter  morning. 

118 


CHAPTER    IV 

MID-LENT 

» 

"  MID-LENT,  and  the  Enemy  grins,"  remarked 
Selwyn  as  he  started  for  church  with  Nina  and  the 
children.  Austin,  knee-deep  in  a  dozen  Sunday  sup 
plements,  refused  to  stir ;  poor  little  Eileen  was  now 
convalescent  from  grippe,  but  still  unsteady  on  her 
legs ;  her  maid  had  taken  the  grippe,  and  now  moaned 
all  day:  "  Mon  dieu!  Mon  dieu!  Che  fais  mour'ir!  " 

Boots  Lansing  called  to  see  Eileen,  but  she  wouldn't 
come  down,  saying  her  nose  was  too  pink.  Drina  en 
tertained  Boots,  and  then  Selwyn  returned  and  talked 
army  talk  with  him  until  tea  was  served.  Drina  poured 
tea  very  prettily;  Nina  had  driven  Austin  to  vespers. 
The  family  dined  at  seven  so  Drina  could  sit  up ;  special 
treat  on  account  of  Boots's  presence  at  table.  Gerald 
was  expected,  but  did  not  come. 

The  next  morning,  Selwyn  went  downtown  at  the 
usual  hour  and  found  Gerald,  pale  and  shaky,  hang 
ing  over  his  desk  and  trying  to  dictate  letters  to  an 
uncomfortable  stenographer. 

So  he  dismissed  the  abashed  girl  for  the  mo 
ment,  closed  the  door,  and  sat  down  beside  the  young 
man. 

"  Go  home,  Gerald  "  he  said  with  decision :  "  when 
9  119 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Neergard  comes  in  I'll  tell  him  you  are  not  well. 
And,  old  fellow,  don't  ever  come  near  the  office  again 
when  you're  in  this  condition." 

"  I'm  a  perfect  fool,"  faltered  the  boy,  his  voice 
trembling ;  "  I  don't  really  care  for  that  sort  of  thing, 
either;  but  you  know  how  it  is  in  that  set " 

"What  set?" 

"Oh,  the  Fanes— the  Ruthv— "  He  stammered 
himself  into  silence. 

"  I  see.     What  happend&last  night?  " 

"  The  usual ;  two  tables  TRull  of  it.  There  was  a 
wheel,  too.  ...  I  had  no  yin*tention — but  you  know 
yourself  how  it  parches  yoijSr  throat — the  jollying  and 
laughing  and  excitement.  *J .  .  I  forgot  all  about  what 
you — what  we  talked  AJker.  .  .  .  I'm  ashamed  and 
sorry;  but  I  can  stay  Mrs  and  attend  to  things,  of 
course "  (~\\J 

"  I  don't  want  Keergard  to  see  you,"  repeated  Selwyn. 

"  W-why,"  stam^H^-ed  the  boy,  "  do  I  look  as  rocky 
as  that?  " 

"  Yes.  J-je^nefce,  y°u  are  n°t  afraid  of  me,  are 
you?" 

" 

"  You  donY  think  I'm  one  of  those  long- faced,  blue- 
nosed  butters-in,  do  you?  You  have  confidence  in  me, 
haven't  you?  You  know  I'm  an  average  and  normally 
sinful  man  who  has  made  plenty  of  mistakes  and  who 
understands  how  others  make  them — you  know  that, 
don't  you,  old  chap  ?  " 

"  Y-es." 

"  Then  you  will  listen,  won't  you,  Gerald  ?  " 

The  boy  laid  his  arms  on  the  desk  and  hid  his  face 
in  them.  Then  he  nodded. 

For  ten  minutes  Selwyn  talked  to  him  with  all  the 
120 


MID-LENT 


terse  and  colloquial  confidence  of  a  comradeship  founded 
upon  respect  for  mutual  fallibility.  No  instruction,  no 
admonition,  no  blame,  no  reproach — only  an  affection 
ately  logical  review  of  matters  as  they  stood — and  as 
they  threatened  to  stand. 

The  boy,  fortunately,  was  still  pliable  and  suscep 
tible,  still  unalarmed  and  frank.  It  seemed  that  he 
had  lost  money  again — this  time  to  Jack  Ruthven ;  and 
Selwyn's  teeth  remained  sternly  interlocked  as,  bit  by 
bit,  the  story  came  out.  But  in  the  telling  the  boy 
was  not  quite  as  frank  as  he  might  have  been ;  and 
Selwyn  supposed  he  was  able  to  stand  his  loss  without 
seeking  aid. 

"  Anyway,"  said  Gerald  in  a  muffled  voice,  "  Pve 
learned  one  lesson — that  a  business  man  can't  acquire 
the  habits  and  keep  the  infernal  hours  that  suit  people 
who  can  take  all  day  to  sleep  it  off." 

"  Right,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  Besides,  my  income  can't  stand  it,"  added  Gerald 
naively. 

"  Neither  could  mine,  old  fellow.  And,  Gerald,  cut 
out  this  card  business ;  it's  the  final  refuge  of  the  feeble 
minded.  .  .  .  You  like  it?  Oh,  well,  if  you've  got  to 
play — if  you've  no  better  resource  for  leisure,  and  if 
non-participation  isolates  you  too  completely  from  othef* 
idiots — play  the  imbecile  gentleman's  game;  which  means 
a  game  where  nobody  need  worry  over  the  stakes." 

"But— they'd  laugh  at  me!" 

"  I  know ;  but  Boots  Lansing  wouldn't — and  you 
have  considerable  respect  for  him." 

Gerald  nodded;  he  had  immediately  succumbed  to 
Lansing  like  everybody  else. 

"  And  one  thing  more,"  said  Selwyn ;  "  don't  play 
for  stakes — no  matter  how  insignificant — where  women 

121 


THE   YOUNGER    SET 


sit  in  the  game.  Fashionable  or  not,  it  is  rotten  sport 
— whatever  the  ethics  may  be.  And,  Gerald,  tainted 
sport  and  a  clean  record  can't  take  the  same  fence 
together." 

The  boy  looked  up,  flushed  and  perplexed.  "  Why, 
every  woman  in  town " 

"  Oh,  no.     How  about  your  sister  and  mine  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not ;  they  are  different.  Only — well, 
you  approve  of  Rosamund  Fane  and — Gladys  Orchil — 
don't  you?  " 

"  Gerald,  men  don't  ask  each  other  such  questions — 
except  as  you  ask,  without  expecting  or  desiring  an 
answer  from  me,  and  merely  to  be  saying  something 
nice  about  two  pretty  women." 

The  reproof  went  home,  deeply,  but  without  a 
pang;  and  the  boy  sat  silent,  studying  the  blotter  be 
tween  his  elbows. 

A  little  later  he  started  for  home  at  Selwyn's  advice. 
But  the  memory  of  his  card  losses  frightened  him,  and 
he  stopped  on  the  way  to  see  what  money  Austin  would 
advance  him. 

Julius  Neergard  came  up  from  Long  Island,  arriv 
ing  at  the  office  about  noon.  The  weather  was  evidently 
cold  on  Long  Island;  he  had  the  complexion  of  a  raw 
ham,  but  the  thick,  fat  hand,  with  its  bitten  nails, 
which  he  offered  Selwyn  as  he  entered  his  office,  was 
unpleasantly  hot,  and,  on  the  thin  nose  which  split  the 
broad  expanse  of  face,  a  bead  or  two  of  sweat  usually 
glistened,  winter  and  summer. 

"  Where's  Gerald  ?  "  he  asked  as  an  office-boy  re 
lieved  him  of  his  heavy  box  coat  and  brought  his  mail 
to  him. 

"  I  advised  Gerald  to  go  home,"  observed  Selwyn 
carelessly ;  "  he  is  not  perfectly  well." 

* 


MID-LENT 


Neergard's  tiny  mouse-like  eyes,  set  close  together, 
stole  brightly  in  Selwyn's  direction ;  but  they  usually 
looked  just  a  little  past  a  man,  seldom  at  him. 

"  Grippe?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  Lots  of  grippe  'round  town,"  observed  Neergard, 
as  though  satisfied  that  Gerald  had  it.  Then  he  sat 
down  and  rubbed  his  large,  membraneous  ears. 

"  Captain  Selwyn,"  he  began,  "  I'm  satisfied  that 
it's  a  devilish  good  thing." 

"Are  you?" 

"  Emphatically.  I've  mastered  the  details — virtu 
ally  all  of  'em.  Here's  the  situation  in  a  grain  of 
wheat ! — the  Siowitha  Club  owns  a  thousand  or  so  acres 
of  oak  scrub,  pine  scrub,  sand  and  weeds,  and  controls 
four  thousand  more ;  that  is  to  say — the  club  pays  the 
farmers'  rents  and  fixes  their  fences  and  awards  them 
odd  jobs  and  prizes  for  the  farm  sustaining  the  biggest 
number  of  bevies.  Also  the  club  pays  them  to  main 
tain  the  millet  and  buckwheat  patches  and  to  act  as 
wardens.  In  return  the  farmers  post  their  four  thou 
sand  acres  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  the  club.  Is 
that  plain?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Now  the  Siowitha  is  largely 
composed  of  very  rich  men — among  them  Bradley  Har 
mon,  Jack  Ruthven,  George  Fane,  Sanxon  Orchil,  the 
Hon.  Delmour-Carnes — that  crowd — rich  and  stingy. 
That's  why  they  are  contented  with  a  yearly  agreement 
with  the  farmers  instead  of  buying  the  four  thousand 
acres.  Why  put  a  lot  of  good  money  out  of  com 
mission  when  they  can  draw  interest  on  it  and 
toss  an  insignificant  fraction  of  that  interest  as  a 
sop  to  the  farmers?  Do  you  see?  That's  your  mil- 

123 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


lionaire  method — and  it's  what  makes  'em  in  the  first 
place." 

He  drew  a  large  fancy  handkerchief  from  his  pistol- 
pocket  and  wiped  the  beads  from  the  bridge  of  his 
limber  nose.  But  they  reappeared  again. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  am  satisfied  that,  working  very 
carefully,  we  can  secure  options  on  every  acre  of  the 
four  thousand.  There  is  money  in  it  either  way  and 
any  way  we  work  it ;  we  get  it  coming  and  going. 
First  of  all,  if  the  Siowitha  people  find  that  they  really 
cannot  get  on  without  controlling  these  acres — why  " — 
and  he  snickered  so  that-  his  nose  curved  into  a  thin, 
ruddy  beak — "  why,  Captain,  I  suppose  we  could  let 
them  have  the  land.  Eh?  Oh,  yes — if  they  must 
have  it !  " 

Selwyn  frowned  slightly. 

"  But  the  point  is,"  continued  Neergard,  "  that  it 
borders  the  railroad  on  the  north;  and  where  the  land 
is  not  wavy  it's  flat  as  a  pancake,  and  " — he  sank  his 
husky  voice — "  it's  fairly  riddled  with  water.  I  paid 
a  thousand  dollars  for  six  tests." 

"  Water !  "  repeated  Selwyn  wonderingly  ;  "  why, 
it's  dry  as  a  desert !  " 

"  Underground  water! — only  about  forty  feet  on 
the  average.  Why,  man,  I  can  hit  a  well  flowing  three 
thousand  gallons  almost  anywhere.  It's  a  gold  mine. 
I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  the  acreage — split  it  up 
into  lots  and  advertise,  or  club  the  Siowitha  people  into 
submission — it's  all  the  same;  it's  a  gold  mine — to  be 
swiped  and  developed.  Now  there  remains  the  title 
searching  and  the  damnable  job  of  financing  it — be 
cause  we've  got  to  move  cautiously,  and  knock  softly 
at  the  doors  of  the  money  vaults,  or  we'll  be  waking  up 
some  Wall  Street  relatives  or  secret  business  associates 


MID-LENT 


of  the  yellow  crowd;  and  if  anybody  bawls  for  help 
we'll  be  up  in  the  air  next  New  Year's,  and  still  hiking 
skyward." 

He  stood  up,  gathering  together  the  mail  matter 
which  his  secretary  had  already  opened  for  his  atten 
tion.  "  There's  plenty  of  time  yet ;  their  leases  were 
renewed  the  first  of  this  year,  and  they'll  run  the  year 
out.  But  it's  something  to  think  about.  Will  you  talk 
to  Gerald,  or  shall  I?" 

"  You,"  said  Selwyn.  "  I'll  think  the  matter  over 
and  give  you  my  opinion.  May  I  speak  to  my  brother- 
in-law  about  it  ?  " 

Neergard  turned  in  his  tracks  and  looked  almost 
at  him. 

"  Do  you  think  there's  any  chance  of  his  financing 
the  thing?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  of  what  he  might  do. 
Especially  " — he  hesitated — "  as  you  never  have  had 
any  loans  from  his  people — I  understand " 

"No,"  said  Neergard;  "I  haven't." 

"  It's  rather  out  of  their  usual,  I  believe " 

"  So  they  say.  But  Long  Island  acreage  needn't 
beg  favours  now.  That's  all  over,  Captain  Selwyn. 
Fane,  Harmon  &  Co.  know  that;  Mr.  Gerard  ought  to 
know  it,  too." 

Selwyn  looked  troubled.  "  Shall  I  consult  Mr. 
Gerard  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  I  should  like  to  if  you  have 
no  objection." 

Neergard's  small,  close-set  eyes  were  focussed  on  a 
spot  just  beyond  Selwyn's  left  shoulder. 

"  Suppose  you  sound  him,"  he  suggested,  "  in 
strictest " 

"  Naturally,"  cut  in  Selwyn  drily ;  and  turning  to 
his  littered  desk,  opened  the  first  letter  his  hand  en- 

125 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


countered.  Now  that  his  head  was  turned,  Neergard 
looked  full  at  the  back  of  his  neck  for  a  long  minute, 
then  went  out  silently. 

That  night  Selwyn  stopped  at  his  sister's  house 
before  going  to  his  own  rooms,  and,  finding  Austin 
alone  in  the  library,  laid  the  matter  before  him  exactly 
as  Neergard  had  put  it. 

"  You  see,"  he  added,  "  that  I'm  a  sort  of  an  ass 
about  business  methods.  What  I  like — what  I  under 
stand,  is  to  use  good  judgment,  go  in  and  boldly  buy 
a  piece  of  property,  wait  until  it  becomes  more  valuable, 
either  through  improvements  or  the  natural  enhance 
ment  of  good  value,  then  take  a  legitimate  profit,  and 
repeat  the  process.  That,  in  outline,  is  what  I  under 
stand.  But,  Austin,  this  furtive  pouncing  on  a  thing 
and  clubbing  other  people's  money  out  of  them  with 
it — this  slyly  acquiring  land  that  is  necessary  to  an 
unsuspecting  neighbour  and  then  holding  him  up — I 
don't  like.  There's  always  something  of  this  sort  that 
prevents  my  cordial  co-operation  with  Neergard — al 
ways  something  in  the  schemes  which  hints  of — of 
squeezing — of  something  underground " 

"  Like  the  water  which  he's  going  to  squeeze  out 
of  the  wells?" 

Selwyn  laughed. 

"  Phil,"  said  his  brother-in-law,  "  if  you  think  any 
body  can  do  a  profitable  business  except  at  other  peo 
ple's  expense,  you  are  an  ass." 

"Am  I?"  asked  Selwyn,  still  laughing  frankly. 

"  Certainly.  The  land  is  there,  plain  enough  for 
anybody  to  see.  It's  always  been  there ;  it's  likely  to 
remain  for  a  few  aeons,  I  fancy. 

"  Now,  along  comes  Meynheer  Julius  Neergard — 
126 


MID-LENT 


the  only  man  who  seems  to  have  brains  enough  to  see 
the  present  value  of  that  parcel  to  the  Siowitha  people. 
Everybody  else  had  the  same  chance;  nobody  except 
Neergard  knew  enough  to  take  it.  Why  shouldn't  he 
profit  by  it?" 

"  Yes — but  if  he'd  be  satisfied  to  cut  it  up  into  lots 
and  do  what  is  fair " 

"  Cut  it  up  into  nothing !  Man  alive,  do  you  sup 
pose  the  Siowitha  people  would  let  him?  They've  only 
a  few  thousand  acres ;  they've  got  to  control  that  land. 
What  good  is  their  club  without  it?  Do  you  imagine 
they'd  let  a  town  grow  up  on  three  sides  of  their  pre 
cious  game-preserve?  And,  besides,  I'll  bet  you  that 
half  of  their  streams  and  lakes  take  rise  on  other  peo 
ple's  property  —  and  that  Neergard  knows  it  —  the 
Dutch  fox!"" 

"  That  sort  of — of  business — that  kind  of  coercion, 
does  not  appeal  to  me,"  said  Selwyn  gravely. 

"  Then  you'd  better  go  into  something  besides  busi 
ness  in  this  town,"  observed  Austin,  turning  red. 
"  Good  Lord,  man,  where  would  my  Loan  and  Trust 
Company  be  if  we  never  foreclosed,  never  swallowed  a 
good  thing  when  we  see  it?  " 

"  But  you  don't  threaten  people." 

Austin  turned  redder.  "  If  people  or  corporations 
stand  in  our  way  and  block  progress,  of  course  we 
threaten.  Threaten?  Isn't  the  threat  of  punishment 
the  very  basis  of  law  and  order  itself?  What  are 
laws  for?  And  we  have  laws,  too — laws,  under  the 
law " 

"  Of  the  State  of  New  Jersey,"  said  Selwyn,  laugh 
ing.  "  Don't  flare  up,  Austin ;  I'm  probably  not  cut 
out  for  a  business  career,  as  you  point  out — otherwise 
I  would  not  have  consulted  you.  I  know  some  laws — 

127 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


including  *  The  Survival  of  the  Fittest,'  and  the  *  Chain- 
of -Destruction  ' ;  and  I  have  read  the  poem  beginning 

" 'Big  bugs  have  little  bugs  to  bite  'em.' 

66  That's  all  right,  too ;  but  speaking  of  laws,  I'm 
always  trying  to  formulate  one  for  my  particular  self- 
government;  and  you  don't  mind,  do  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gerard,  much  amused,  "  I  don't  mind. 
Only  when  you  talk  ethics — talk  sense  at  the  same 
time." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how,"  he  said. 

They  discussed  Neergard's  scheme  for  a  little  while 
longer;  Austin,  shrewd  and  cautious,  declined  any  per 
sonal  part  in  the  financing  of  the  deal,  although  he 
admitted  the  probability  of  prospective  profits. 

"  Our  investments  and  our  loans  are  of  a  different 
character,"  he  explained,  "  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Fane,  Harmon  &  Co. " 

"  Why,  both  Fane  and  Harmon  are  members  of  the 
club !  "  laughed  Selwyn.  "  You  don't  expect  Neergard 
to  go  to  them  ?  " 

A  peculiar  expression  flickered  in  Gerard's  heavy 
features ;  perhaps  he  thought  that  Fane  and  Harmon 
and  Jack  Ruthven  were  not  above  exploiting  their  own 
club  under  certain  circumstances.  But  whatever  his 
opinion,  he  said  nothing  further;  and,  suggesting  that 
Selwyn  remain  to  dine,  went  off  to  dress. 

A  few  moments  later  he  returned,  crestfallen  and 
conciliatory : 

"  I  forgot,  Nina  and  I  are  dining  at  the  Orchils. 
Come  up  a  moment ;  she  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

So  they  took  the  rose-tinted  rococo  elevator ;  Austin 
went  away  to  his  own  quarters,  and  Selwyn  tapped  at 
Nina's  boudoir. 

128 


MID-LENT 


"  Is  that  you,  Phil?  One  minute;  Watson  is  finish 
ing  my  hair.  .  .  .  Come  in,  now ;  and  kindly  keep  your 
distance,  my  friend.  Do  you  suppose  I  want  Rosamund 
to  know  what, brand  of  war-paint  I  use?  " 

"  Rosamund,"  he  repeated,  with  a  good-humoured 
shrug;  "it's  likely— isn't  it?" 

"  Certainly  it's  likely.  You'd  never  know  you  were 
telling  her  anything — but  she'd  extract  every  detail  in 
ten  seconds.  ...  I  understand  she  adores  you,  Phil. 
What  have  you  done  to  her?  " 

"  That's  likely,  too,"  he  remarked,  remembering  his 
savagely  polite  rebuke  to  that  young  matron  after  the 
Minster  dinner. 

"  Well,  she  does ;  you've  probably  piqued  her ;  that's 
the  sort  of  man  she  likes.  .  .  .  Look  at  my  hair — how 
bright  and  wavy  it  is,  Phil.  Tell  me,  do  I  appear 
fairly  pretty  to-night  ?  " 

"  You're  all  right,  Nina ;  I  mean  it,"  he  said. 
:i  How  are  the  kids  ?  How  is  Eileen  ?  " 

"  That's  why  I  sent  for  you.  Eileen  is  furious  at 
being  left  here  all  alone ;  she's  practically  well  and  she's 
to  dine  with  Drina  in  the  library.  Would  you  be  good 
enough  to  dine  there  with  them?  Eileen,  poor  child,  is 
heartily  sick  of  her  imprisonment ;  it  would  be  a  mercy, 
Phil." 

"  Why,  yes,  I'll  do  it,  of  course ;  only  I've  some 
matters  at  home " 

"  Home !  You  call  those  stuffy,  smoky,  impossible, 
half-furnished  rooms  home  I  Phil,  when  are  you  ever 
going  to  get  some  pretty  furniture  and  art  things? 
Eileen  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over,  and  we've  de 
cided  to  go  there  and  see  what  you  need  and  then  order 
it,  whether  you  like  it  or  not." 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  laughing;  "it's  just  what  I've 
129 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


tried  to  avoid.  I've  got  things  where  I  want  them  now 
— but  I  knew  it  was  too  comfortable  to  last.  Boots 
said  that  some  woman  would  be  sure  to  be  good  to  me 
with  an  art-nouveau  rocking-chair." 

"  A  perfect  sample  of  man's  gratitude,"  said  Nina, 
exasperated ;  "  for  I've  ordered  two  beautiful  art- 
nouveau  rocking-chairs,  one  for  you  and  one  for  Mr. 
Lansing.  Now  you  can  go  and  humiliate  poor  little 
Eileen,  who  took  so  much  pleasure  in  planning  with  me 
for  your  comfort.  As  for  your  friend  Boots,  he's  un 
speakable — with  my  compliments." 

Selwyn  stayed  until  he  made  peace  with  his  sister, 
then  he  mounted  to  the  nursery  to  "  lean  over  "  the 
younger  children  and  preside  at  prayers.  This  being 
accomplished,  he  descended  to  the  library,  where  Eileen 
Erroll  in  a  filmy,  lace-clouded  gown,  full  of  turquoise 
tints,  reclined  with  her  arm  around  Drina  amid  heaps 
of  cushions,  watching  the  waitress  prepare  a  table 
for  two. 

He  took  the  fresh,  cool  hand  she  extended  and  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  her  couch. 

"  All  O.  K.  again?  "  he  inquired,  retaining  Eileen's 
hand  in  his. 

"  Thank  you — quite.  Are  you  really  going  to  dine 
with  us?  Are  you  sure  you  want  to?  Oh,  I  know 
you've  given  up  some  very  gay  dinner  somewhere " 

"  I  was  going  to  dine  with  Boots  when  Nina  rescued 
me.  Poor  Boots  ! — I  think  I'll  telephone " 

"  Telephone  him  to  come  here ! "  begged  Drina. 
"Would  he  come?  Oh,  please — I'd  love  to  have  him." 

"  I  wish  you  would  ask  him,"  said  Eileen ;  "  it's 
been  so  lonely  and  stupid  to  lie  in  bed  with  a  red  nose 
and  fishy  eyes  and  pains  in  one's  back  and  limbs. 
Please  do  let  us  have  a  party." 

130 


a 

=, 

p 


MID-LEXT 


So  Selwyn  went  to  the  telephone,  and  presently  re 
turned,  saving  that  Boots  was  overwhelmed  and  would 
be  present  at  the  festivities :  and  Drina,  enraptured, 
ordered  flowers  to  be  brought  from  the  dining-room  and 
a  large  table  set  for  four,  with  particular  pomp  and 
circumstance. 

Mr.  Archibald  Lansing  arrived  very  promptly — a 
short,  stocky  young  man  of  clean  and  powerful  build, 
with  dark,  keen  eyes  always  alert,  and  humorous  lips 
ever  on  the  edge  of  laughter  under  his  dark  moustache. 

His  manner  with  Drina  was  always  delightful — a 
mixture  of  self-repressed  idolatry  and  busily  naive  be 
lief  in  a  thorough  understanding  between  them  to  ex 
clude  Selwyn  from  their  company. 

"  This  Selwyn  fellow  here !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
warned  him  over  the  'phone  we'd  not  tolerate  him, 
Drina.  I  explained  to  him  very  carefully  that  you  and 
I  were  dining  together  in  strictest  privacy " 

"  He  begged  so  hard,"  said  Eileen.  "  Will  some 
body  place  an  extra  pillow  for  Drina?  " 

They  seized  the  same  pillow  fiercely,  confronting 
each  other ;  massacre  appeared  imminent. 

"  Tico  pillows,"  said  Drina  sweetly ;  and  extermina 
tion  was  averted.  The  child  laughed  happily,  covering 
one  of  Boots's  hands  with  both  of  hers. 

"  So  you've  left  the  service,  Mr.  Lansing?  "  began 
Eileen,  lying  back  and  looking  smilingly  at  Boots. 

"  Had  to,  Miss  Erroll.  Seven  millionaires  ran  into 
my  quarters  and  chased  me  out  and  down  Broadway 
into  the  offices  of  the  Westchester  Air  Line  Company. 
Then  these  seven  merciless  multi-millionaires  in  buckram 
bound  and  gagged  me,  stuffed  my  pockets  full  of  salary, 
and  forced  me  to  typewrite  a  fearful  and  secret  oath 
to  serve  them  for  five  long,  weary  years.  That's  a 

131 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


sample  of  how  the  wealthy  grind  the  noses  of  the  poor, 
isn't  it,  Drina?" 

The  child  slipped  her  hand  from  his,  smiling  un 
certainly. 

"  You  don't  mean  all  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sweetheart." 

"  Are  you  not  a  soldier  lieutenant  any  more,  then  ?  " 
she  inquired,  horribly  disappointed. 

"  Only  a  private  in  the  workman's  battalion,  Drina." 

"  I  don't  care,"  retorted  the  child  obstinately ;  "  I 
like  you  just  as  much." 

"  Have  you  really  done  it?  "  asked  Selwyn  as  the 
first  course  was  served. 

"  If  No.  They?  Yes.  We'll  probably  lose  the 
Philippines  now,"  he  added  gloomily ;  "  but  it's  my 
thankless  country's  fault ;  you  all  had  a  chance  to  make 
me  dictator,  you  know.  Miss  Erroll,  do  you  want  a 
second-hand  sword?  Of  course  there  are  great  dents 
in  it " 

"  I'd  rather  have  those  celebrated  boots,"  she  replied 
demurely ;  and  Mr.  Lansing  groaned. 

"  How  tall  you're  growing,  Drina,"  remarked 
Selwyn. 

"  Probably  the  early  spring  weather,"  added  Boots. 
"  You're  twelve,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Thirteen,"  said  Drina  gravely. 

"  Almost  time  to  elope  with  me,"  nodded  Boots. 

"  I'll  do  it  now,"  she  said — "  as  soon  as  my  new 
gowns  are  made — if  you'll  take  me  to  Manila.  Will 
you?  I  believe  my  Aunt  Alixe  is  there " 

She  caught  Eileen's  eye  and  stopped  short.  "  I 
forgot,"  she  murmured ;  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Uncle 
Philip " 

Boots  was  talking  very  fast  and  laughing  a  great 
132 


MID-LENT 


deal ;  Eileen's  plate  claimed  her  undivided  attention ; 
Selwyn  quietly  finished  his  claret;  the  child  looked  at 
them  all. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Boots  abruptly,  "  what's  the 
matter  with  Gerald?  He  came  in  before  noon  looking 
very  seedy — "  Selwyn  glanced  up  quietly. 

""Wasn't    he    at    the    office?"    asked    Eileen    anx 
iously. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Selwyn ;  "  he  felt  a  trifle  under 
the  weather,  so  I  sent  him  home." 

"Is  it  the  grippe?" 

"  N-no,  I  believe  not " 

"  Do  you  think  he  had  better  have  a  doctor  ?  Where 
is  he?  "  * 

"  He  was  here,"  observed  Drina  composedly,  "  and 
father  was  angry  with  him." 

"  What?  "  exclaimed  Eileen.     "  When?  " 

"  This  morning,  before  father  went  downtown." 

Both  Selwyn  and  Lansing  cut  in  coolly,  dismissing 
the  matter  with  a  careless  word  or  two ;  and  coffee  was 
served — cambric  tea  in  Drina's  case. 

"  Come  on,"  said  Boots,  slipping  a  bride-rose  into 
Drina's  curls ;  "  I'm  ready  for  confidences." 

"  Confidences "  had  become  an  established  custom 
with  Drina  and  Boots;  it  meant  that  every  time  they 
saw  one  another  they  were  pledged  to  tell  each  other 
everything  that  had  occurred  in  their  lives  since  their 
last  meeting. 

So  Drina,  excitedly  requesting  to  be  excused, 
jumped  up  and,  taking  Lansing's  hand  in  hers,  led 
him  to  a  sofa  in  a  distant  corner,  where  they  immedi 
ately  installed  themselves  and  began  an  earnest  and 
whispered  exchange  of  confidences,  punctuated  by  little 
whirlwinds  of  laughter  from  the  child. 

133 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Eileen  settled  deeper  among  her  pillows  as  the 
table  was  removed,  and  Selwyn  drew  his  chair  for 
ward. 

"  Suppose,"  she  said,  looking  thoughtfully  at  him, 
"  that  you  and  I  make  a  vow  to  exchange  confidences  ? 
Shall  we,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens,"  he  protested ;  "  / — confess  to 
you\  You'd  faint  dead  away,  Eileen." 

"Perhaps.   .  .  .  But  will  you?" 

He  gaily  evaded  an  answer,  and  after  a  while  he 
fancied  she  had  forgotten.  They  spoke  of  other  things, 
of  her  convalescence,  of  the  engagements  she  had  been 
obliged  to  cancel,  of  the  stupid  hours  in  her  room — 
doubly  stupid,  as  the  doctor  had  not  permitted  her  to 
read  or  sew. 

"  And  every  day  violets  from  you,"  she  said ;  "  it 
was  certainly  nice  of  you.  And — do  you  know  that 
somehow — just  because  you  have  never  yet  failed  me — 
I  thought  perhaps — when  I  asked  your  confidence  a  mo 
ment  ago " 

He  looked  up  quickly. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Gerald?"  she  asked. 
"Could  you  tell  me?" 

"  Nothing  serious  is  the  matter,  Eileen." 

"Is  he  not  ill?" 

"  Not  very." 

She  lay  still  a  moment,  then  with  the  slightest  ges 
ture:  "Come  here." 

He  seated  himself  near  her ;  she  laid  her  hand  fear 
lessly  on  his  arm. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  demanded.  And,  as  he  remained 
silent :  "  Once,"  she  said,  "  I  came  suddenly  into  the 
library.  Austin  and  Gerald  were  there;  Austin  seemed 
to  be  very  angry  with  my  brother.  I  heard  him  say 


MID-LENT 


something  that  worried  me;  and  I  slipped  out  before 
they  saw  me." 

Selwyn  remained  silent. 

"Was  that  it?" 

"  I — don't  know  what  you  heard." 

"  Don't  you  understand  me?  " 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  Well,  then  " — she  crimsoned — "  has  Gerald  m-mis- 
behaved  again  ?  " 

"  What  did  you  hear  Austin  say  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  heard — something  about  dissipation.  He  was 
very  angry  with  Gerald.  It  is  not  the  best  way,  I 
think,  to  become  angry  with  either  of  us — either  me  or 
Gerald — because  then  we  are  usually  inclined  to  do  it 
again — whatever  it  is.  ...  I  do  not  mean  for  one  mo 
ment  to  be  disloyal  to  Austin ;  you  know  that.  .  .  . 
But  I  am  so  thankful  that  Gerald  is  fond  of  you.  .  .  . 
You  like  him,  too,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  him." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  said,  "  you  will  talk  to  him  pleas 
antly — won't  you  ?  He  is  such  a  boy ;  and  he  adores 
you.  It  is  easy  to  influence  a  boy  like  that,  you  know 
— easy  to  shame  him  out  of  the  silly  things  he  does. 
.  .  .  That  is  all  the  confidence  I  wanted,  Captain  Sel 
wyn.  And  you  haven't  told  me  a  word,  you  see — and  I 
have  not  fainted — have  I?  " 

They  laughed  a  little ;  her  fingers,  which  had  tight 
ened  on  his  arm,  relaxed;  her  hand  fell  away,  and  she 
straightened  up,  sitting  Turk  fashion,  and  smoothing 
her  hair  which  contact  with  the  pillows  had  disarranged 
so  that  it  threatened  to  come  tumbling  over  eyes  and 
cheeks. 

"  Oh,  hair,  hair !  "  she  murmured,  "  you're  Nina's 
despair  and  my  endless  punishment.  I'd  twist  and  pin 
10  135 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


you  tight  if  I  dared — some  day  I  will,  too.  .  .  .  What 
are  you  looking  at  so  curiously,  Captain  Selwyn?  My 
mop?" 

"  It's  about  the  most  stunningly  beautiful  thing  I 
ever  saw,"  he  said,  still  curious. 

She  nodded  gaily,  both  hands  still  busy  with  the 
lustrous  strands.  "  It  is  nice ;  but  I  never  supposed 
you  noticed  it.  It  falls  to  my  waist ;  I'll  show  it  to  you 
some  time.  .  .  .  But  I  had  no  idea  you  noticed  such 
things,"  she  repeated,  as  though  to  herself. 

"  Oh,  I'm  apt  to  notice  all  sorts  of  things,"  he  said, 
looking  so  provokingly  wise  that  she  dropped  her  hair 
and  clapped  both  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are  so  observing,  you'll 
know  the  colour  of  my  eyes.  What  are  they?  " 

"  Blue — with  a  sort  of  violet  tint,"  he  said 
promptly. 

She  laughed  and  lowered  her  hands. 

"  All  that  personal  attention  paid  to  me !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  You  are  turning  my  head,  Captain  Selwyn. 
Besides,  you  are  astonishing  me,  because  you  never  seem 
to  know  what  women  wear  or  what  they  resemble  when 
I  ask  you  to  describe  the  girls  with  whom  you  have  been 
dining  or  dancing." 

It  was  a  new  note  in  their  cordial  intimacy — this 
nascent  intrusion  of  the  personal.  To  her  it  merely 
meant  his  very  charming  recognition  of  her  maturity — 
that  she  was  fast  becoming  a  woman  like  other  women, 
to  be  looked  at  and  remembered  as  an  individual,  and 
no  longer  classed  vaguely  as  one  among  hundreds  of 
the  newly  emerged  whose  soft,  unexpanded  personalities 
all  resembled  one  another. 

For  some  time,  now,  she  had  cherished  this  tiny 
grudge  in  her  heart — that  he  had  never  seemed  to  no- 

136 


MID-LENT 


tice  anything  in  particular  about  her  except  when  he 
tried  to  be  agreeable  concerning  some  new  gown.  The 
contrast  had  become  the  sharper,  too,  since  she  had 
awakened  to  the  admiration  of  other  men.  And  the 
awakening  was  only  a  half -convinced  happiness  mingled 
with  shy  surprise  that  the  wise  world  should  really  deem 
her  so  lovely. 

"  A  red-headed  girl,"  she  said  teasingly ;  "  I  thought 
you  had  better  taste  than — than " 

"  Than  to  think  you  a  raving  beauty  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  think  that!  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  himself  had  become  aware  of 
it  so  suddenly  that  he  had  no  time  to  think  very  much 
about  it.  It  was  rather  strange,  too,  that  he  had  not 
always  been  aware  of  it;  or  was  it  partly  the  mellow 
light  from  the  lamp  tinting  her  till  she  glowed  and 
shimmered  like  a  young  sorceress,  sitting  so  straight 
there  in  her  turquoise  silk  and  misty  lace  ? 

Delicate  luminous  shadow  banded  her  eyes ;  her  hair, 
partly  in  shadow,  too,  became  a  sombre  mystery  in 
rose-gold. 

"  Whatever  are  you  staring  at  ? "  she  laughed. 
"  Me  ?  I  don't  believe  it !  Never  have  you  so  honoured 
me  with  your  fixed  attention,  Captain  Selwyn.  You 
really  glare  at  me  as  though  I  were  interesting.  And 
I  know  you  don't  consider  me  that ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  How  old  are  you,  anyway  ?  "  he  asked  curi 
ously. 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  be  delighted  to  inform  you  when 
I'm  twenty." 

"  You  look  like  a  mixture  of  fifteen  and  twenty- 
five  to-night,"  he  said  deliberately ;  "  and  the  answer 
is  more  and  less  than  nineteen." 

"  And  you,"  she  said,  "  talk  like  a  frivolous  sage, 
137 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  your  wisdom  is  as  weighty  as  the  years  you  carry. 
And  what  is  the  answer  to  that?  Do  you  know,  Cap 
tain  Selwyn,  that  when  you  talk  to  me  this  way  you 
look  about  as  inexperienced  as  Gerald  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  I  feel  as  in 
experienced — when  I  talk  to  you  this  way?  " 

She  nodded.  "  It's  probably  good  for  us  both ;  I 
age,  you  renew  the  frivolous  days  of  youth  when  you 
were  young  enough  to  notice  the  colour  of  a  girl's  hair 
and  eyes.  Besides,  I'm  very  grateful  to  you.  Here 
after  you  won't  dare  sit  about  and  cross  your  knees 
and  look  like  the  picture  of  an  inattentive  young  man 
by  Gibson.  You've  admitted  that  you  like  two  of  my 
features,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  notice  and  admit 
that  you  notice  the  rest." 

"  I  admit  it  now,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  You  mustn't ;  I  won't  let  you.  Two  kinds  of 
dessert  are  sufficient  at  a  time.  But  to-morrow — or 
perhaps  the  day  after,  you  may  confess  to  me  your 
approbation  of  one  more  feature — only  one,  remem 
ber! — just  one  more  agreeable  feature.  In  that  way 
I  shall  be  able  to  hold  out  for  quite  a  while,  you 
see — counting  my  fingers  as  separate  features!  Oh, 
you've  given  me  a  taste  of  it;  it's  your  own  fault, 
Captain  Selwyn,  and  now  I  desire  more  if  you  please — 
in  semi-weekly  lingering  doses " 

A  perfect  gale  of  laughter  from  the  sofa  cut  her 
short. 

"  Drina !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  it's  after  eight ! — and 
I  completely  forgot." 

"Oh,  dear!"  protested  the  child,  "he's  being  so 
funny  about  the  war  in  Samar.  Couldn't  I  stay  up — 
just  five  more  minutes,  Eileen?  Besides,  I  haven't  told 

him  about  Jessie  Orchil's  party " 

138 


MID-LENT 


"  Drina,  dear,  you  know  I  can't  let  you.  Say  good 
night,  now — if  you  want  Mr.  Lansing  and  your  Uncle 
Philip  to  come  to  another  party." 

"  I'll  just  whisper  one  more  confidence  very  fast," 
she  said  to  Boots.  He  inclined  his  head;  she  placed 
both  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and,  kneeling  on  the 
sofa,  laid  her  lips  close  to  his  ear.  Eileen  and  Sel- 
wyn  waited. 

When  the  child  had  ended  and  had  taken  leave  of 
all,  Boots  also  took  his  leave ;  and  Selwyn  rose,  too,  a 
troubled,  careworn  expression  replacing  the  careless 
gaiety  which  had  made  him  seem  so  young  in  Miss 
Erroll's  youthful  eyes. 

"  Wait,  Boots,"  he  said :  "  I'm  going  home  with 
you."  And,  to  Eileen,  almost  absently :  "  Good-night ; 
I'm  so  very  glad  you  are  well  again." 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him.  The 
faintest  sense  of  disappointment  came  over  her — at 
what,  she  did  not  know.  Was  it  because,  in  his  com 
pletely  altered  face  she  realised  the  instant  and  easy 
detachment  from  herself,  and  what  concerned  her? — 
was  it  because  other  people,  like  Mr,  Lansing — other 
interests — like  those  which  so  plainly,  in  his  face,  be 
trayed  his  preoccupation — had  so  easily  replaced  an 
intimacy  which  had  seemed  to  grow  newer  and  more 
delightful  with  every  meeting? 

What  was  it,  then,  that  he  found  more  interesting, 
more  important,  than  their  friendship,  their  compan 
ionship?  Was  she  never  to  grow  old  enough,  or  wise 
enough,  or  experienced  enough  to  exact — without  ex 
acting — his  paramount  consideration  and  interest? 
Was  there  no  common  level  of  mental  equality  where 
they  could  meet? — where  termination  of  interviews 
might  be  mutual — might  be  fairer  to  her? 

139 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Now  he  went  away,  utterly  detached  from  her  and 
what  concerned  her — to  seek  other  interests  of  which 
she  knew  nothing;  absorbed  in  them  to  her  utter  ex 
clusion,  leaving  her  here  with  the  long  evening  before 
her  and  nothing  to  do — because  her  eyes  were  not  yet 
strong  enough  to  use  for  reading. 

Lansing  was  saying :  "  I'll  drive  as  far  as  the  club 
with  you,  and  then  you  can  drop  me  and  come  back 
later." 

"  Right,  my  son ;  I'll  finish^a  letter  and  then  come 
back " 


"  Can't  you  write  it  at  tW  club?  " 

"  Not  that  letter,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice ;  and, 
turning  to  Eileen,  smiled  $s  absent,  detached  smile, 
offering  his  hand. 

But  she  lay  back,  lookjn^  straight  up  at  him. 

"  Are  you  gomj 

"  Yes ;  I  have 

"  Stay  with  me\"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

For  a  momentyltl^e  words  meant  nothing;  then 
blank  surprise  r&ilenc^d  him,  followed  by  curiosity. 

"  Is  there  s>om^tning  you  wished  to  tell  me  ?  "  he 
asked.  1  NyX 

"N-no."    J 

His  perplexity  and  surprise  grew.  "  Wait  a  sec 
ond,  Boots,"  he  said ;  and  Mr.  Lansing,  being  a  fairly 
intelligent  young  man,  went  out  and  down  the  stair 
way. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  too  kindly,  too  soothingly,  "  what 
is  it,  Eileen?" 

"  Nothing.  I  thought — but  I  don't  care.  Please 
go,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  until  you  tell  me  what  troubles 


you." 


140 


MID-LENT 


"  I  can't." 

"  Try,  Eileen." 

"  Why,  it  is  nothing ;  truly  it  is  nothing.  .  .  . 
Only  I  was — it  is  so  early — only  a  quarter  past 
eight " 

He  stood  there  looking  down  at  her,  striving  to 
understand. 

"  That  is  all,"  she  said,  flushing  a  trifle ;  "  I  can't 
read  and  I  can't  sew  and  there's  nobody  here.  ...  I 
don't  mean  to  bother  you " 

"  Child,"  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you  want  me  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  will  you?  " 

He  walked  swiftly  to  the  landing  outside  and 
looked  down. 

"  Boots !  "  he  called  in  a  low  voice,  "  I'm  not  going 
home  yet.  Don't  wait  for  me  at  the  Lenox." 

"  All  right,"  returned  Mr.  Lansing  cheerfully.  A 
moment  later  the  front  door  closed  below.  Then  Sel- 
wyn  came  back  into  the  library. 

For  an  hour  he  sat  there  telling  her  the  gayest 
stories  and  talking  the  most  delightful  nonsense,  alter 
nating  with  interesting  incisions  into  serious  subjects 
which  it  enchanted  her  to  dissect  under  his  confident 
guidance. 

Alert,  intelligent,  all  aquiver  between  laughter  and 
absorption,  she  had  sat  up  among  her  silken  pillows, 
resting  her  weight  on  one  rounded  arm,  her  splendid 
young  eyes  fixed  on  him  to  detect  and  follow  and  in 
terpret  every  change  in  his  expression  personal  to  the 
subject  and  to  her  share  in  it. 

His  old  self  again !  What  could  be  more  welcome  ? 
Not  one  shadow  in  his  pleasant  eyes,  not  a  trace  of 
pallor,  of  care,  of  that  gray  aloofness.  How  jolly, 
how  young  he  was  after  all ! 

141 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


They  discussed,  or  laughed  at,  or  mentioned  and 
dismissed  with  a  gesture  a  thousand  matters  of  common 
interest  in  that  swift  hour — incredibly  swift,  unless  the 
hall  clock's  deadened  chimes  were  mocking  Time  itself 
with  mischievous  effrontery. 

She  heard  them,  the  enchantment  still  in  her  eyes ; 
he  nodded,  listening,  meeting  her  gaze  with  his  smile 
undisturbed.  When  the  last  chime  had  sounded  she 
lay  back  among  her  cushions. 

"  Thank  you  for  staying,"  she  said  quite  happily. 

"Am  I  to  go?" 

Smilingly  thoughtful  she  considered  him  from  her 
pillows : 

"  Where  were  you  going  when  I — spoiled  it  all? 
For  you  were  going  somewhere — out  there  " — with 
a  gesture  toward  the  darkness  outside — "  somewhere 
where  men  go  to  have  the  good  times  they  always  seem 
to  have.  .  .  .  Was  it  to  your  club?  What  do  men  do 
there?  Is  it  very  gay  at  men's  clubs?  ...  It  must 
be  interesting  to  go  where  men  have  such  jolly  times — 
where  men  gather  to  talk  that  mysterious  man-talk 
which  we  so  often  wonder  at — and  pretend  we  are  in 
different.  But  we  are  very  curious,  nevertheless — even 
about  the  boys  of  Gerald's  age — whom  we  laugh  at 
and  torment ;  and  we  can't  help  wondering  how  they 
talk  to  each  other — what  they  say  that  is  so  inter 
esting;  for  they  somehow  manage  to  convey  that  im 
pression  to  us — even  against  our  will.  ...  If  you 
stay,  I  shall  never  have  done  with  chattering.  When 
you  sit  there  with  one  lazy  knee  so  leisurely  draped 
over  the  other,  and  your  eyes  laughing  at  me  through 
your  cigar-smoke,  about  a  million  ideas  flash  up  in  me 
which  I  desire  to  discuss  with  you.  ...  So  you  had 
better  go." 

142 


MID-LENT 


"  I  am  happier  here,"  he  said,  watching  her. 

"Really?" 

"  Really." 

"  Then — then — am  7,  also,  one  of  the  *  good  times  ' 
a  man  can  have? — when  he  is  at  liberty  to  reflect  and 
choose  as  he  idles  over  his  coffee?  " 

"  A  man  is  fortunate  if  you  permit  that  choice." 

"Are  you  serious?  I  mean  a  man,  not  a  boy — 
not  a  dance  or  dinner  partner,  or  one  of  the  men 
one  meets  about — everywhere  from  pillar  to  post.  Do 
you  think  me  interesting  to  real  men? — like  you  and 
Boots?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said  deliberately,  "  I  do.  I  don't  know 
how  interesting,  because — I  never  quite  realised  how — 
how  you  had  matured.  .  .  .  That  was  my  stupidity." 

"  Captain  Selwyn !  "  in  confused  triumph ;  "  you 
never  gave  me  a  chance;  I  mean,  you  always  were  nice 
in — in  the  same  way  you  are  to  Drina.  ...  I  liked 
it — don't  please  misunderstand — only  I  knew  there  was 
something  else  to  me — something  more  nearly  your 
own  age.  It  was  jolly  to  know  you  were  really  fond 
of  me — but  youthful  sisters  grow  faster  than  you 
imagine.  .  .  .  And  now,  when  you  come,  I  shall  ven 
ture  to  believe  it  is  not  wholly  to  do  me  a  kindness — 
but — a  little — to  do  yourself  one,  too.  Is  that  not 
the  basis  of  friendship  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Community  and  equality  of  interests? — isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

" — And — in  which  the — the  charity  of  superior  ex 
perience  and  the  inattention  of  intellectual  preoccu 
pation  and  the  amused  concession  to  ignorance  must 
steadily,  if  gradually,  disappear  ?  Is  that  it,  too  ?  " 

Astonishment  and  chagrin  at  his  misconception  of 
143 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


her  gave  place  to  outright  laughter  at  his  own  ex 
pense. 

"  Where  on  earth  did  you — I  mean  that  I  am  quite 
overwhelmed  under  your  cutting  indictment  of  me. 
Old  duffers  of  my  age " 

"  Don't  say  that,"  she  said ;  "  that  is  pleading 
guilty  to  the  indictment,  and  reverting  to  the  old  foot 
ing.  I  shall  not  permit  you  to  go  back." 

"  I  don't  want  to,  Eileen " 

"  I  am  wondering,"  she  said  airily,  "  about  that 
*  Eileen.'  I'm  not  sure  but  that  easy  and  fluent  '  Ei 
leen  '  is  part  of  the  indictment.  What  do  you  call 
Gladys  Orchil,  for  example?  " 

"  What  do  I  care  what  I  call  anybody  ?  "  he  re 
torted,  laughing,  "  as  long  as  they 

" '  Answer  to  "  Hi !  " 
Or  to  any  loud  cry  '  ?  " 

"  But  /  won't  answer  to  '  Hi ! '  "  she  retorted  very 
promptly ;  "  and  now  that  you  admit  that  I  am  a 
'  good  time,'  a  mature  individual  with  distinguishing 
characteristics,  and  your  intellectual  equal  if  not  your 
peer  in  experience,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  shall  answer 
at  all  whenever  you  begin  '  Eileen.'  Or  I  shall  take 
my  time  about  it — or  I  may  even  reflect  and  look 
straight  through  you  before  I  reply — or,"  she  added, 
" 1  may  be  so  profoundly  preoccupied  with  important 
matters  which  do  not  concern  you,  that  I  might  not 
even  hear  you  speak  at  all." 

Their  light-hearted  laughter  mingled  delightfully 
— fresh,  free,  uncontrolled,  peal  after  peal.  She  sat 
huddled  up  like  a  schoolgirl,  lovely  head  thrown  back, 
her  white  hands  clasping  her  knees ;  he,  both  feet 


MID-LENT 


squarely  on  the  floor,  leaned  forward,  his  laughter 
echoing  hers. 

"  What  nonsense !  What  blessed  nonsense  you  and 
I  are  talking !  "  she  said,  "  but  it  has  made  me  quite 
happy.  Now  you  may  go  to  your  club  and  your  mys 
terious  man-talk " 

"  I  don't  want  to " 

"  Oh,  but  you  must !  " — she  was  now  dismissing 
him — "  because,  although  I  am  convalescent,  I  am  a 
little  tired,  and  Nina's  maid  is  waiting  to  tuck  me  in." 

"  So  you  send  me  away  ?  " 

"  Sen d  you — "  She  hesitated,  delightfully  con 
fused  in  the  reversal  of  roles — not  quite  convinced 
of  this  new  power  which,  of  itself,  had  seemed  to  in 
vest  her  with  authority  over  man.  "  Yes,"  she  said, 
"  I  must  send  you  away."  And  her  heart  beat  a  little 
faster  in  her  uncertainty  as  to  his  obedience — then 
leaped  in  triumph  as  he  rose  with  a  reluctance  per 
fectly  visible. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  said,  "  I  am  to  drive  for  the 
first  time.  In  the  evening  I  may  be  permitted  to  go 
to  the  Grays'  mid-Lent  dance — but  not  to  dance  much. 
Will  you  be  there?  Didn't  they  ask  you?  I  shall  tell 
Suddy  Gray  what  I  think  of  him — I  don't  care 
whether  it's  for  the  younger  set  or  not !  Goodness  me, 
aren't  you  as  young  as  anybody !  .  .  .  Well,  then ! 
...  So  we  won't  see  each  other  to-morrow.  And  the 
day  after  that — oh,  I  wish  I  had  my  engagement  list. 
Never  mind,  I  will  telephone  you  when  I'm  to  be  at 
home — or  wherever  I'm  going  to  be.  But  it  won't 
be  anywhere  in  particular  because  it's  Lent,  of  course. 
.  .  .  Good-night,  Captain  Selwyn ;  you've  been  very 
sweet  to  me,  and  I've  enjoyed  every  single  instant." 

When  he  had  gone  she  rose,  a  trifle  excited  in  the 
145 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


glow  of  abstract  happiness,  and  walked  erratically 
about,  smiling  to  herself,  touching  and  rearranging 
objects  that  caught  her  attention.  Then  an  innocent 
instinct  led  her  to  the  mirror,  where  she  stood  a  mo 
ment  looking  back  into  the  lovely  reflected  face  with 
its  disordered  hair. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  I'm  not  as  aged  as  I  pre 
tended.  ...  I  wonder  if  he  is  laughing  at  me  now. 
.  .  .  But  he  was  very,  very  nice  to  me — wherever  he 
has  gone  in  quest  of  that  '  good  time '  and  to  talk 
his  man-talk  to  other  men " 

In  a  reverie  she  stood  at  the  mirror  considering 
her  own  flushed  cheeks  and  brilliant  eyes. 

"  What  a  curiously  interesting  man  he  is,"  she 
murmured  naively.  "  I  shall  telephone  him  that  I  am 
not  going  to  that  mi-careme  dance.  .  .  .  Besides, 
Suddy  Gray  is  a  bore  with  the  martyred  smile  he's 
been  cultivating.  .  .  .  As  though  a  happy  girl  would 
dream  of  marrying  anybody  with  all  life  before  her 
to  learn  important  things  in !  ...  And  that  dread 
ful,  downy  Scott  Innis — trying  to  make  me  listen 
to  him  I  .  .  .  until  I  was  ashamed  to  be  alive!  And 
Bradley  Harmon — ugh! — and  oh,  that  mushy  widower, 
Percy  Draymore,  who  got  hold  of  my  arm  before  I 
dreamed " 

She  shuddered  and  turned  back  into  the  room, 
frowning  and  counting  her  slow  steps  across  the  floor. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  their  silliness  may  be  their 
greatest  mystery — but  I  don't  include  Captain  Sel- 
wyn,"  she  added  loyally ;  "  he  is  far  too  intelligent  to 
be  like  other  men." 

Yet,  like  other  men,  at  that  very  moment  Captain 
Selwyn  was  playing  the  fizzing  contents  of  a  siphon 

146 


MID-LENT 


upon  the  iced  ingredients  of  a  tall,  thin  glass  which 
stood  on  a  table  in  the  Lenox  Club. 

The  governor's  room  being  deserted  except  by  him 
self  and  Mr.  Lansing,  he  continued  the  animated  ex 
planation  of  his  delay  in  arriving. 

"  So  I  stayed,"  he  said  to  Boots  with  an  enthusiasm 
quite  boyish,  "  and  I  had  a  perfectly  bully  time.  She's 
just  as  clever  as  she  can  be — startling  at  moments.  I 
never  half  appreciated  her — she  formerly  appealed  to 
me  in  a  different  way — a  young  girl  knocking  at  the 
door  of  the  world,  and  no  mother  or  father  to  open 
for  her  and  show  her  the  gimcracks  and  the  freaks 
and  the  side-shows.  Do  you  know,  Boots,  that  some 
day  that  girl  is  going  to  marry  somebody,  and  it 
worries  me,  knowing  men  as  I  do — unless  you  should 
think  of " 

"  Great  James !  "  faltered  Mr.  Lansing,  "  are  you 
turning  into  a  schatschen?  Are  you  planning  to 
waddle  through  the  world  making  matches  for  your 
friends?  If  you  are  I'm  quitting  you  right  here." 

"  It's  only  because  you  are  the  decentest  man  I 
happen  to  know,"  said  Selwyn  resentfully.  "  Prob 
ably  she'd  turn  you  down,  anyway.  But — "  and  he 
brightened  up,  "  I  dare  say  she'll  choose  the  best  to 
be  had;  it's  a  pity  though " 

"What's  a  pity?" 

"  That  a  charming,  intellectual,  sensitive,  innocent 
girl  like  that  should  be  turned  over  to  a  plain  lump 
of  a  man." 

"  When  you've  finished  your  eulogy  on  our  sex," 
said  Lansing,  "  I'll  walk  home  with  you." 

"  Come  on,  then ;  I  can  talk  while  I  walk ;  did  you 
think  I  couldn't?" 

And  as  they  struck  through  the  first  cross  street 
147 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


toward  Lexington  Avenue :  "  It's  a  privilege  for  a 
fellow  to  know  that  sort  of  a  girl — so  many  surprises 
in  her — the  charmingly  unexpected  and  unsuspected ! — 
the  pretty  flashes  of  wit,  the  naive  egotism  which  is 
as  amusing  as  it  is  harmless.  ...  I  had  no  idea  how 
complex  she  is.  ...  If  you  think  you  have  the  simple 
feminine  on  your  hands — forget  it,  Boots! — for  she's 
as  evanescent  as  a  helio-flash  and  as  stunningly  lumi 
nous  as  a  searchlight.  .  .  .  And  here  I've  been  doing 
the  benevolent  prig,  bestowing  society  upon  her  as  a 
man  doles  out  indigestible  stuff  to  a  kid,  using  a  sort 
of  guilty  discrimination  in  the  distribution " 

"  What  on  earth  is  all  this  ?  "  demanded  Lansing ; 
"  are  you  perhaps  non  compos,  dear  friend?  " 

"  I'm  trying  to  tell  you  and  explain  to  myself  that 
little  Miss  Erroll  is  a  rare  and  profoundly  interesting 
specimen  of  a  genus  not  usually  too  amusing,"  he 
replied  with  growing  enthusiasm.  "  Of  course,  Holly 
Erroll  was  her  father,  and  that  accounts  for  some 
thing;  and  her  mother  seems  to  have  been  a  wit  as 
well  as  a  beauty — which  helps  you  to  understand;  but 
the  brilliancy  of  the  result — aged  nineteen,  mind  you — 
is  out  of  all  proportion ;  cause  and  effect  do  not 
balance.  .  .  .  Why,  Boots,  an  ordinary  man — I  mean 
an  everyday  fellow  who  dines  and  dances  and  does  the 
harmlessly  usual  about  town,  dwindles  to  anaemic  in 
significance  when  compared  to  that  young  girl — even 
now  when  she's  practically  undeveloped — when  her  in 
telligence  is  like  an  uncut  gem  still  in  the  matrix  of 
inexperience " 

"  Help !  "  said  Boots  feebly,  attempting  to  bolt ; 
but  Selwyn  hooked  arms  with  him,  laughing  excitedly. 
In  fact  Lansing  had  not  seen  his  friend  in  such  ex 
cellent  spirits  for  many,  many  months ;  and  it  made 

148  " 


MID-LENT 


him  exceedingly  light-hearted,  so  that  he  presently  be 
gan  to  chant  the  old  service  canticle: 

"  I  have  another,  he's  just  as  bad, 
He  almost  drives  me  crazy — " 

And  arm  in  arm  they  swung  into  the  dark  avenue, 
singing  "  Barney  Riley  "  in  resonant  undertones,  while 
overhead  the  chilly  little  Western  stars  looked  down 
through  pallid  convolutions  of  moving  clouds,  and  the 
wind  in  the  gas-lit  avenue  grew  keener  on  the  street- 
corners. 

"  Cooler  followed  by  clearing,"  observed  Boots  in 
disgust.  "  Ugh ;  it's  the  limit,  this  nipping,  howling 
hemisphere."  And  he  turned  up  his  overcoat  collar. 

"  I  prefer  it  to  a  hemisphere  that  smells  like  a 
cheap  joss-stick,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  After  all,  they're  about  alike,"  retorted  Boots — 
"  even  to  the  ladrones  of  Broad  Street  and  the  dattos 
of  Wall.  .  .  .  And  here's  our  bally  bungalow  now," 
he  added,  fumbling  for  his  keys  and  whistling  "  taps  " 
under  his  breath. 

As  the  two  men  entered  and  started  to  ascend  the 
stairs,  a  door  on  the  parlour  floor  opened  and  their 
landlady  appeared,  enveloped  in  a  soiled  crimson 
kimona  and  a  false  front  which  had  slipped  sideways. 

"  There's  the  Sultana,"  whispered  Lansing,  "  and 
she's  making  sign-language  at  you.  Wig-wag  her, 
Phil.  Oh  ...  good-evening,  Mrs.  Greeve;  did  you 
wish  to  speak  to  me?  Oh! — to  Captain  Selwyn.  Of 
course." 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Greeve  ominously,  so 
Lansing  continued  upward;  Selwyn  descended;  Mrs. 
Greeve  waved  him  into  the  icy  parlour,  where  he  pres- 

149 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


ently  found  her  straightening  her  "  front  "  with  work- 
worn  fingers. 

"  Captain  Selwyn,  I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  set  up 
in  order  to  inform  you  of  certain  special  doin's,"  she 
said  haughtily. 

"  What  '  doings  '  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Er roll's,  sir.  Last  night  he  evidentially  found 
difficulty  with  the  stairs  and  I  seen  him  asleep  on  the 
parlour  sofa  when  I  come  down  to  answer  the  milk 
man,  a-smokin'  a  cigar  that  wasn't  lit,  with  his  feet  on 
the  angelus." 

"  I'm  very,  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Greeve,"  he  said — 
"  and  so  is  Mr.  Erroll.  He  and  I  had  a  little  talk 
to-day,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  will  be  more  careful 
hereafter." 

"  There  is  cigar-holes  burned  into  the  carpet," 
insisted  Mrs.  Greeve,  "  and  a  mercy  we  wasn't  all 
insinuated  in  our  beds,  one  window-pane  broken  and 
the  gas  a  blue  an'  whistlin'  streak  with  the  curtains 
blowin'  into  it  an'  a  strange  cat  on  to  that  satin  dozy- 
do;  the  proof  being  the  repugnant  perfume." 

"All  of  which,"  said  Selwyn,  "Mr.  Erroll  will 
make  every  possible  amends  for.  He  is  very  young, 
Mrs.  Greeve,  and  very  much  ashamed,  I  am  sure.  So 
please  don't  make  it  too  hard  for  him." 

She  stood,  little  slippered  feet  planted  sturdily  in 
the  first  position  in  dancing,  fat,  bare  arms  protrud 
ing  from  the  kimona,  her  work-stained  fingers  linked 
together  in  front  of  her.  With  a  soiled  thumb  she 
turned  a  ring  on  her  third  finger. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  mean  to  nobody,"  she  said ; 
"  niy  gentlemen  is  always  refined,  even  if  they  do  some 
times  forget  theirselves  when  young  and  sporty.  Mr. 
Erroll  is  now  a-bed,  sir,  and  asleep  like  a  cherub,  ice 

150 


MID-LENT 


havin'  been  served  three  times  with  towels,  extra. 
Would  you  be  good  enough  to  mention  the  bill  to  him 
in  the  morning? — the  grocer  bein'  sniffy."  And  she 
handed  the  wadded  and  inky  memorandum  of  damages 
to  Selwyn,  who  pocketed  it  with  a  nod  of  assurance. 

"  There  was,"  she  added,  following  him  to  the  door, 
"  a  lady  here  to  see  you  twice,  leavin'  no  name  or  in 
tentions  otherwise  than  business  affairs  of  a  pressin' 
nature." 

"  A — lady  ?  "  he  repeated,  halting  short  on  the 
stairs. 

"  Young  an'  refined,  allowin'  for  a  automobile  veil." 

"  She — she  asked  for  me?  "  he  repeated,  astonished. 

"  Yes,  sir.  She  wanted  to  see  your  rooms.  But 
havin'  no  orders,  Captain  Selwyn — although  I  must 
say  she  was  that  polite  and  ladylike  and,"  added  Mrs. 
Greeve  irrelevantly,  "  a  art  rocker  come  for  you,  too, 
and  another  for  Mr.  Lansing,  which  I  placed  in  your 
respective  settin'-rooms." 

"  Oh,"  said  Selwyn,  laughing  in  relief,  "  it's  all 
right,  Mrs.  Greeve.  The  lady  who  came  is  my  sis 
ter,  Mrs.  Gerard;  and  whenever  she  comes  you  are  to 
admit  her  whether  or  not  I  am  here." 

"  She  said  she  might  come  again,"  nodded  Mrs. 
Greeve  as  he  mounted  the  stairs ;  "  am  I  to  show  her 
up  any  time  she  comes  ?  " 

"  Certainly — thank  you,"  he  called  back — "  and 
Mr.  Gerard,  too,  if  he  calls." 

He  looked  into  Boots's  room  as  he  passed;  that 
gentleman,  in  bedroom  costume  of  peculiar  exotic  gor- 
geousness,  sat  stuffing  a  pipe  with  shag,  and  poring 
over  a  mass  of  papers  pertaining  to  the  Westchester 
Air  Line's  property  and  prospective  developments. 

"  Come  in,  Phil,"  he  called  out ;  "  and  look  at  the 
11  151 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


dinky  chair  somebody  sent  me ! "  But  Selwyn  shook 
his  head. 

"  Come  into  my  rooms  when  you're  ready,"  he  said, 
and  closed  the  door  again,  smiling  and  turning  away 
toward  his  own  quarters. 

Before  he  entered,  however,  he  walked  the  length  of 
the  hall  and  cautiously  tried  the  handle  of  Gerald's 
door.  It  yielded ;  he  lighted  a  match  and  gazed  at  the 
sleeping  boy  where  he  lay  very  peacefully  among  his 
pillows.  Then,  without  a  sound,  he  reclosed  the  door 
and  withdrew  to  his  apartment. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  bedroom  in  his  dressing- 
gown  he  heard  the  front  door-bell  below  peal  twice,  but 
paid  no  heed,  his  attention  being  concentrated  on  the 
chair  which  Nina  had  sent  him.  First  he  walked  gin 
gerly  all  around  it,  then  he  ventured  nearer  to  examine 
it  in  detail,  and  presently  he  tried  it. 

"  Of  course,"  he  sighed — "  bless  her  heart ! — it's  a 
perfectly  impossible  chair.  It  squeaks,  too."  But  he 
was  mistaken ;  the  creak  came  from  the  old  stairway 
outside  his  door,  weighted  with  the  tread  of  Mrs. 
Greeve.  The  tread  and  the  creaking  ceased;  there 
came  a  knock,  then  heavy  descending  footsteps  on  the 
aged  stairway,  every  separate  step  protesting  until  the 
incubus  had  sunk  once  more  into  the  depths  from  which 
it  had  emerged. 

As  this  happened  to  be  the  night  for  his  laundry, 
he  merely  called  out,  "  All  right ! "  and  remained  in 
curious,  seated  in  the  new  chair  and  striving  to  adjust 
its  stiff  and  narrow  architecture  to  his  own  broad 
shoulders.  Finally  he  got  up  and  filled  his  pipe,  in 
tending  to  try  the  chair  once  more  under  the  most 
favourable  circumstances. 

As  he  lighted  his  pipe  there  came  a  hesitating 
152 


MID-LENT 


knock  at  the  door;  he  jerked  his  head  sharply;  the 
knock  was  repeated. 

Something — a  faintest  premonition — the  vaguest 
stirring  of  foreboding  committed  him  to  silence — and 
left  him  there  motionless.  The  match  burned  close  to 
his  fingers ;  he  dropped  it  and  set  his  heel  upon  the 
sparks. 

Then  he  walked  swiftly  to  the  door,  flung  it  open 
full  width — and  stood  stock  still. 

And  Mrs.  Ruthven  entered  the  room,  partly  clos 
ing  the  door  behind,  her  gloved  hand  still  resting  on 
the  knob. 

For  a  moment  they  confronted  one  another,  he 
tall,  rigid,  astounded ;  she  pale,  supple,  relaxing  a  trifle 
against  the  half-closed  door  behind  her,  which  yielded 
and  closed  with  a  low  click. 

At  the  sound  of  the  closing  door  he  found  his  voice ; 
it  did  not  resemble  his  own  voice  either  to  himself  or 
to  her ;  but  she  answered  his  bewildered  question : 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  came.  Is  it  so  very  dread 
ful?  Have  I  offended  you?  ...  I  did  not  suppose 
that  men  cared  about  conventions." 

"But — why  on  earth — did  you  come?"  he  re 
peated.  "Are  you  in  trouble?" 

"  I  seem  to  be  now,"  she  said  with  a  tremulous 
laugh ;  "  you  are  frightening  me  to  death,  Captain 
Selwyn." 

Still  dazed,  he  found  the  first  chair  at  hand  and 
dragged  it  toward  her. 

She  hesitated  at  the  offer;  then:  "Thank  you," 
she  said,  passing  before  him.  She  laid  her  hand  on 
the  chair,  looked  a  moment  at  him,  and  sank  into  it. 

Resting  there,  her  pale  cheek  against  her  muff,  she 
smiled  at  him,  and  every  nerve  in  him  quivered  with  pity. 

153 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  World  without  end ;  amen."  she  said.  "  Let  the 
judgment  of  man  pass." 

"  The  judgment  of  this  man  passes  very  gently," 
he  said,  looking  down  at  her.  "  What  brings  you 
here,  Mrs.  Ruthven?  " 

"  Will  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then — it  is  simply  the  desire  of  the  friendless 
for  a  friend.  Nothing  else — nothing  more  subtle, 
nothing  of  effrontery;  n-nothing  worse.  Do  you  be 
lieve  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand " 

"  Try  to." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  have  differed  with " 

"Him?"  She  laughed.  "Oh,  no;  I  was  talking 
of  real  people,  not  of  myths.  And  real  people  are  not 
very  friendly  to  me,  always — not  that  they  are  dis 
agreeable,  you  understand,  only  a  trifle  overcordial ; 
and  my  most  intimate  friend  kisses  me  a  little  too 
frequently.  By  the  way,  she  has  quite  succumbed  to 
you,  I  hear." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Rosamund." 

He  said  something  under  his  breath  and  looked  at 
her  impatiently. 

"  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"Know  what?" 

"  That  Rosamund  is  quite  crazy  about  you  ?  " 

"  Good  Lord !  Do  you  suppose  that  any  of  the 
monkey  set  are  interested  in  me  or  I  in  them?"  he 
said,  disgusted.  "  Do  I  ever  go  near  them  or  meet 
them  at  all  except  by  accident  in  the  routine  of  the 
machinery  which  sometimes  sews  us  in  tangent  patches 
on  this  crazy-quilt  called  society  ?  " 

154 


4  'I  don't  know  why  I  came.'  " 


MID-LENT 


"  But  Rosamund,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  is  now  cul 
tivating  Mrs.  Gerard." 

"  What  of  it?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Because,"  she  replied,  still  laughing,  "  I  tell  you, 
she  is  perfectly  mad  about  you.  There's  no  use 
scowling  and  squaring  your  chin.  Oh,  I  ought  to 
know  what  that  indicates!  I've  watched  you  do  it 
often  enough;  but  the  fact  is  that  the  handsomest 
and  smartest  woman  in  town  is  for  ever  dinning  your 
perfections  into  my  ears " 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  that  this  sort  of  stuff  passes 
in  your  set  for  wit ;  but  let  me  tell  you  that  any  man 
who  cares  for  that  brand  of  humour  can  have  it  any 
time  he  chooses.  However,  he  goes  outside  the  resi 
dence  district  to  find  it." 

She  flushed  scarlet  at  his  brutality;  he  drew  up  a 
chair,  seated  himself  very  deliberately,  and  spoke,  his 
unlighted  pipe  in  his  left  hand: 

"The  girl  I  left— the  girl  who  left  me— was  a 
modest,  clean-thinking,  clean-minded  girl,  who  also 
had  a  brain  to  use,  and  employed  it.  Whatever  con 
clusion  that  girl  arrived  at  concerning  the  importance 
of  marriage-vows  is  no  longer  my  business ;  but  the 
moment  she  confronts  me  again,  offering  friendship, 
then  I  may  use  a  friend's  privilege,  as  I  do.  And  so 
I  tell  you  that  loosely  fashionable  badinage  bores  me. 
And  another  matter — privileged  by  the  friendship  you 
acknowledge — forces  me  to  ask  you  a  question,  and 
I  ask  it,  point-blank:  Why  have  you  again  permitted 
Gerald  to  play  cards  for  stakes  at  your  house,  after 
promising  you  would  not  do  so  ?  " 

The  colour  receded  from  her  face  and  her  gloved 
fingers  tightened  on  the  arms  of  her  chair. 

"  That  is  one  reason   I  came,"  she   said ;  "  to  ex- 

"  155 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  You  could  have  written." 

"  I  say  it  was  one  reason ;  the  other  I  have  al 
ready  given  you — because  I — I  felt  that  you  were 
friendly." 

"  I  am.     Go  on." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  friendly  to  me ;  I 
thought  you  were — that  night.  ...  I  did  not  sleep 
a  wink  after  it  ...  because  I  was  quite  happy.  .  .  . 
But  now — I  don't  know " 

"Whether  I  am  still  friendly?  Well,  I  am.  So 
please  explain  about  Gerald." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  raising  her  dark  eyes,  "  that  you 
mean  to  be  kind?  " 

"  Yes,  sure,"  he  said  harshly.     "  Go  on." 

"  You  are  a  little  rough  with  me ;  a-almost  in 
solent " 

"  I — I  have  to  be.  Good  God !  Alixe,  do  you  think 
this  is  nothing  to  me? — this  wretched  mess  we  have 
made  of  life !  Do  you  think  my  roughness  and  abrupt 
ness  comes  from  anything  but  pity? — pity  for  us  both, 
I  tell  you.  Do  you  think  I  can  remain  unmoved  look 
ing  on  the  atrocious  punishment  you  have  inflicted  on 
yourself? — tethered  to — to  thatl — for  life! — the  poi 
son  of  the  contact  showing  in  your  altered  voice  and 
manner ! — in  the  things  you  laugh  at,  in  the  things 
you  live  for — in  the  twisted,  misshapen  ideals  that  your 
friends  set  up  on  a  heap  of  nuggets  for  you  to  wor 
ship?  Even  if  we've  passed  through  the  sea  of  mire, 
can't  we  at  least  clear  the  filth  from  our  eyes  and  see 
straight  and  steer  straight  to  the  anchorage  ?  " 

She  had  covered  her  pallid  face  with  her  muff;  he 
bent  forward,  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  Alixe,  was  there  nothing  to  you,  after  all?  Was 
it  only  a  tinted  ghost  that  was  blown  into  my  bungalow 

156 


MID-LENT 


that  night — only  a  twist  of  shredded  marsh  mist  with 
out  substance,  without  being,  without  soul  ? — to  be  blown 
away  into  the  shadows  with  the  next  and  stronger  wind 
— and  again  to  drift  out  across  the  waste  places  of  the 
world?  I  thought  I  knew  a  sweet,  impulsive  comrade 
of  flesh  and  blood ;  warm,  quick,  generous,  intelligent — 
and  very,  very  young — too  young  and  spirited,  perhaps, 
to  endure  the  harness  which  coupled  her  with  a  man 
who  failed  her — and  failed  himself. 

"  That  she  has  made  another — and  perhaps  more 
heart-breaking  mistake,  is  bitter  for  me,  too — because 
— because — I  have  not  yet  forgotten.  And  even  if  I 
ceased  to  remember,  the  sadness  of  it  must  touch  me, 
But  I  have  not  forgotten,  and  because  I  have  not, 
I  say  to  you,  anchor!  and  hold  fast.  Whatever  he 
does,  whatever  you  suffer,  whatever  happens,  steer 
straight  on  to  the  anchorage.  Do  you  understand 
me?  " 

Her  gloved  hand,  moving  at  random,  encountered 
his  and  closed  on  it  convulsively. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Y-es,  Phil." 

Head  still  sinking,  face  covered  with  the  silvery 
fur,  the  tremors  from  her  body  set  her  hand  quiver 
ing  on  his. 

Heart-sick,  he  forbore  to  ask  for  the  explanation; 
he  knew  the  real  answer,  anyway — whatever  she  might 
say — and  he  understood  that  any  game  in  that  house 
was  Ruthven's  game,  and  the  guests  his  guests;  and 
that  Gerald  was  only  one  of  the  younger  men  who  had 
been  wrung  dry  in  that  house. 

No  doubt  at  all  that  Ruthven  needed  the  money; 
he  was  only  a  male  geisha  for  the  set  that  harboured 
him,  anyway — picked  up  by  a  big,  hard-eyed  woman, 

157 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


who  had  almost  forgotten  how  to  laugh,  until  she 
found  him  furtively  muzzling  her  diamond-laden  fin 
gers.  So,  when  she  discovered  that  he  could  sit  up 
and  beg  and  roll  over  at  a  nod,  she  let  him  follow  her ; 
and  since  then  he  had  become  indispensable  and  had 
curled  up  on  many  a  soft  and  silken  knee,  and  had 
sought  and  fetched  and  carried  for  many  a  pretty 
woman  what  she  herself  did  not  care  to  touch,  even 
with  white-gloved  fingers. 

What  had  she  expected  when  she  married  him? 
Only  innocent  ignorance  of  the  set  he  ornamented 
could  account  for  the  horror  of  her  disillusion.  What 
splendours  had  she  dreamed  of  from  the  outside? 
What  flashing  and  infernal  signal  had  beckoned  her 
to  enter?  What  mute  eyes  had  promised?  What 
silent  smile  invited  ?  All  skulls  seem  to  grin ;  but  the 
world  has  yet  to  hear  them  laugh. 


"Philip?" 

"  Yes,  Alixe." 

"  I  did  my  best,  w-without  offending  Gerald.     Can 
you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  I     know     you     did.   .   .   .  Don't     mind     what     I 
said " 

"  N-no,  not  now.   .   .   .  You  do  believe   me,   don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Thank  you.   .   .   .  And,  Phil,  I  will  try  to  s-steer 
straight — because  you  ask  me." 

"You  must." 

"  I  will.  ...  It  is  good  to  be  here.   ...  I  must 
not  come  again,  must  I?  " 

"  Not  again,  Alixe." 

"  On  your  account?  " 

158 


MID-LENT 


"On  your  own.  .  .  .  What  do  /  care?" 

"  I  didn't  know.     They  say " 

"What?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  A  rumour — I  heard  it — others  speak  of  it — per 
haps  to  be  disagreeable  to  me " 

"  What  have  you  heard?  " 

"  That — that  you  might  marry  again " 

"  Well,  you  can  nail  that  He,"  he  said  hotly. 

"Then  it  is  not  true?" 

"  True !  Do  you  think  I'd  take  that  chance  again 
even  if  I  felt  free  to  do  it?  " 

"Free?"  she  faltered;  "but  you  are  free,  Phil!" 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said  fiercely ;  "  no  man  is  free 
to  marry  twice  under  such  conditions.  It's  a  jest  at 
decency  and  a  slap  in  the  face  of  civilisation!  I'm 
done  for — finished ;  I  had  my  chance  and  I  failed.  Do 
you  think  I  consider  myself  free  to  try  again  with  the 
chance  of  further  bespattering  my  family?  " 

"  Wait  until  you  really  love,"  she  said  tremulously. 

He  laughed  incredulously. 

"  I  am  glad  that  it  is  not  true.  ...  I  am  glad," 
she  said.  "  Oh,  Phil !  Phil ! — for  a  single  one  of  the 
chances  we  had  again  and  again  and  again! — and  we 
did  not  know — we  did  not  know !  And  yet — there  were 
moments " 

Dry-lipped  he  looked  at  her,  and  dry  of  eye  and 
lip  she  raised  her  head  and  stared  at  him — through 
him — far  beyond  at  the  twin  ghosts  floating  under  the 
tropic  stars  locked  fast  in  their  first  embrace. 

Then  she  rose,  blindly,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  he  stumbled  to  his  feet,  shrinking  back  from 
her — because  dead  fires  were  flickering  again,  and  the 
ashes  of  dead  roses  stirred  above  the  scented  embers — 
and  the  magic  of  all  the  East  was  descending  like  a 

159 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


veil  upon  them,  and  the  Phantom  of  the  Past  drew 
nearer,  smiling,  wide-armed,  crowned  with  living  blos 
soms. 

The  tide  rose,  swaying  her  where  she  stood;  her 
hands  fell  from  her  face.  Between  them  the  grave  they 
had  dug  seemed  almost  filled  with  flowers  now — was 
filling  fast.  And  across  it  they  looked  at  one  another 
as  though  stunned.  Then  his  face  paled  and  he  stepped 
back,  staring  at  her  from  stern  eyes. 

"  Phil,"  she  faltered,  bewildered  by  the  mirage,  "  is 
it  only  a  bad  dream,  after  all?  "  And  as  the  false 
magic  glowed  into  blinding  splendour  to  engulf  them: 
"  Oh,  boy !  boy ! — is  it  hell  or  heaven  where  we've 
fallen ?" 

There  came  a  loud  rapping  at  the  door. 


160 


CHAPTER    V 

AFTERGLOW 

"  PHIL,"  she  wrote,  "  I  am  a  little  frightened.  Do 
you  suppose  Boots  suspected  who  it  was?  I  must  have 
been  perfectly  mad  to  go  to  your  rooms  that  night; 
and  we  both  were — to  leave  the  door  unlocked  with 
the  chance  of  somebody  walking  in.  But,  Phil,  how 
could  I  know  it  was  the  fashion  for  your  friends  to 
bang  like  that  and  then  come  in  without  the  excuse 
of  a  response  from  you? 

"  I  have  been  so  worried,  so  anxious,  hoping  from 
day  to  day  that  you  would  write  to  reassure  me  that 
Boots  did  not  recognise  me  with  my  back  turned  to 
him  and  my  muff  across  my  eyes. 

"  But  scared  and  humiliated  as  I  am  I  realise  that 
it  was  well  that  he  knocked.  Even  as  I  write  to  you 
here  in  my  own  room,  behind  locked  doors,  I  am  burn 
ing  with  the  shame  of  it. 

66  But  I  am  not  that  kind  of  woman,  Phil ;  truly, 
truly,  I  am  not.  When  the  foolish  impulse  seized  me 
I  had  no  clear  idea  of  what  I  wanted  except  to  see 
you  and  learn  for  myself  what  you  thought  about 
Gerald's  playing  at  my  house  after  I  had  promised  not 
to  let  him. 

"  Of  course,  I  understood  what  I  risked  in  going ; 
I  realised  what  common  interpretation  might  be  put 
upon  what  I  was  doing.  But  ugly  as  it  might  appear 

161 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


to  anybody  except  you,  my  motive,  you  see,  must  have 
been  quite  innocent — else  I  should  have  gone  about  it 
in  a  very  different  manner. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,  that  is  absolutely  all ;  I 
was  lonely  for  a  word — even  a  harsh  one — from  the 
sort  of  man  you  are.  I  wanted  you  to  believe  it  was 
in  spite  of  me  that  Gerald  came  and  played  that  night. 

"  He  came  without  my  knowledge.  I  did  not  know 
he  was  invited.  And  when  he  appeared  I  did  every 
thing  to  prevent  him  from  playing;  you  will  never 
know  what  took  place — what  I  submitted  to 

"  I  am  trying  to  be  truthful,  Phil ;  I  want  to  lay 
my  heart  bare  for  you — but  there  are  things  a  woman 
cannot  wholly  confess.  Believe  me,  I  did  what  I  could. 
.  .  .  And  that  is  all  I  can  say.  Oh,  I  know  what  it 
costs  you  to  be  mixed  up  in  such  contemptible  com 
plications.  I,  for  my  part,  can  scarcely  bear  to  have 
you  know  so  much  about  me — and  what  I  am  come  to. 
That  is  my  real  punishment,  Phil — not  what  you  said 
it  was. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  well  for  me  that  you  know 
so  much  about  me.  It  is  not  too  difficult  to  face  the 
outer  world  with  a  bold  front — or  to  deceive  any  man 
in  it.  But  our  own  little  world  is  being  rapidly  un 
deceived;  and  now  the  only  real  man  remaining  in  it 
has  seen  my  gay  mask  stripped  off — which  is  not  well 
for  a  woman,  Phil. 

"  I  remember  what  you  said  about  an  anchorage ; 
I  am  trying  to  clear  these  haunted  eyes  of  mine  and 
steer  clear  of  phantoms — for  the  honour  of  what  we 
once  were  to  each  other  before  the  world.  But  steer 
ing  a  ghost-ship  through  endless  tempests  is  hard  la 
bour,  Phil;  so  be  a  little  kind — a  little  more  than 
patient,  if  my  hand  grows  tired  at  the  wheel. 

162 


AFTERGLOW 


"  And  now — with  all  these  madly  inked  pages  scat 
tered  across  my  desk,  I  draw  toward  me  another  sheet 
— the  last  I  have  still  unstained;  to  ask  at  last  the 
question  which  I  have  shrunk  from  through  all  these 
pages — and  for  which  these  pages  alone  were  written: 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me?  Asking  you,  shows 
how  much  I  care;  dread  of  your  opinion  has  turned 
me  coward  until  this  last  page.  What  do  you  think 
of  me?  I  am  perfectly  miserable  about  Boots,  but 
that  is  partly  fright — though  I  know  I  am  safe  enough 
with  such  a  man.  But  what  sets  my  cheeks  blazing 
so  that  I  cannot  bear  to  face  my  own  eyes  in  the 
mirror,  is  the  fear  of  what  you  must  think  of  me  in 
the  still,  secret  places  of  that  heart  of  yours,  which 
I  never,  never  understood.  ALIXE." 

It  was  a  week  before  he  sent  his  reply — although 
he  wrote  many  answers,  each  in  turn  revised,  corrected, 
copied,  and  recopied,  only  to  be  destroyed  in  the  end. 
But  at  last  he  forced  himself  to  meet  truth  with  truth, 
cutting  what  crudity  he  could  from  his  letter: 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  think  of  you ;  but  that  ques 
tion  should  properly  come  from  me.  What  do  you 
think  of  a  man  who  exhorts  and  warns  a  woman  to 
stand  fast,  and  then  stands  dumb  at  the  first  impact 
of  temptation? 

"  A  sight  for  gods  and  men — that  man !  Is  there 
any  use  for  me  to  stammer  out  trite  phrases  of  self- 
contempt?  The  fact  remains  that  I  am  unfit  to  ad 
vise,  criticise,  or  condemn  anybody  for  anything;  and 
it's  high  time  I  realised  it. 

"  If  words  of  commendation,  of  courage,  of  kindly 
counsel,  are  needed  by  anybody  in  this  world,  I  am 

163 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


not  the  man  to  utter  them.  What  a  hypocrite  must 
I  seem  to  you!  I  who  sat  there  beside  you  preaching 
platitudes  in  strong  self-complacency,  instructing  you 
how  morally  edifying  it  is  to  be  good  and  unhappy. 

"Then,  what  happened?  I  don't  know  exactly; 
but  I'm  trying  to  be  honest,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
think  happened: 

"  You  are — you ;  I  am — I ;  and  we  are  still  those 
same  two  people  who  understood  neither  the  impulse 
that  once  swept  us  together,  nor  the  forces  that  tore 
us  apart — ah,  more  than  that !  we  never  understood  each 
other !  And  we  do  not  now. 

"  That  is  what  happened.  We  were  too  near  to 
gether  again ;  the  same  spark  leaped,  the  same  blind 
ness  struck  us,  the  same  impulse  swayed  us — call  it 
what  we  will ! — and  it  quickened  out  of  chaos,  grew 
from  nothing  into  unreasoning  existence.  It  was  the 
terrific  menace  of  emotion,  stunning  us  both — simply 
because  you  are  you  and  I  am  I.  And  that  is  what 
happened. 

"  We  cannot  deny  it ;  we  may  not  have  believed 
it  possible — or  in  fact  considered  it  at  all.  I  did  not; 
I  am  sure  you  did  not.  Yet  it  occurred,  and  we  can 
not  deny  it,  and  we  can  no  more  explain  or  under 
stand  it  than  we  can  understand  each  other. 

"  But  one  thing  we  do  know — not  through  reason 
but  through  sheer  instinct :  We  cannot  venture  to  meet 
again — that  way.  For  I,  it  seems,  am  a  man  like  other 
men  except  that  I  lack  character;  and  you  are — you\ 
still  unchanged — with  all  the  mystery  of  attraction, 
all  the  magic  force  of  vitality,  all  the  esoteric  subtlety 
with  which  you  enveloped  me  the  first  moment  my  eyes 
met  yours. 

"  There  was  no  more  reason  for  it  then  than  there 
164 


AFTERGLOW 


is  now;  and,  as  you  admit,  it  was  not  love — though, 
as  you  also  admit,  there  were  moments  approaching  it. 
But  nothing  can  have  real  being  without  a  basis  of 
reason;  and  so,  whatever  it  was.  it  vanished.  This, 
perhaps,  is  only  the  infernal  afterglow. 

"  As  for  me,  I  am,  as  you  are,  all  at  sea,  self-con 
fidence  gone,  self -faith  lost — a  very  humble  person, 
without  conceit,  dazed,  perplexed,  but  still  attempting 
to  steer  through  toward  that  safe  anchorage  which  I 
dared  lately  to  recommend  to  you. 

"  And  it  is  really  there,  Alixe,  despite  the  fool 
who  recites  his  creed  so  tritely. 

"  All  this  in  attempt  to  bring  order  into  my  own 
mental  confusion ;  and  the  result  is  that  I  have  for 
mulated  nothing. 

"  So  now  I  end  where  I  began  with  that  question 
which  answers  yours  without  the  faintest  suspicion  of 
reproach:  What  can  you  think  of  such  a  man  as  I  am? 
And  in  the  presence  of  my  second  failure  your  an 
swer  must  be  that  you  now  think  what  you  once 
thought  of  him  when  you  first  realised  that  he  had 
failed  you.  PHILIP  SELWYN." 

That  very  night  brought  him  her  reply : 

"  Phil,  dear,  I  do  not  blame  you  for  one  instant. 
Why  do  you  say  you  ever  failed  in  anything?  It 
was  entirely  my  fault.  But  I  am  so  happy  that  you 
wrote  as  you  did,  taking  all  the  blame,  which  is  like 
you.  I  can  look  into  my  mirror  now — for  a  moment 
or  two. 

"  It  is  brave  of  you  to  be  so  frank  about  what 
you  think  came  over  us.  I  can  discuss  nothing,  admit 
nothing;  but  you  always  did  reason  more  clearly  than 
I.  Still,  whatever  spell  it  was  that  menaced  us  I  know 

165 


THE   YOUNGER   SET 


very  well  could  not  have  threatened  you  seriously;  I 
know  it  because  you  reason  about  it  so  logically.  So 
it  could  have  been  nothing  serious.  Love  alone  is 
serious ;  and  it  sometimes  comes  slowly,  sometimes  goes 
slowly;  but  if  you  desire  it  to  come  quickly,  close 
your  eyes !  And  if  you  wish  it  to  vanish,  reason  about 
itl 

"  We  are  on  very  safe  ground  again,  Phil ;  you  see 
we  are  making  little  epigrams  about  love. 

"  Rosamund  is  impatient — it's  a  symphony  concert, 
and  I  must  go — the  horrid  little  cynic! — I  half  be 
lieve  she  suspects  that  I'm  writing  to  you  and  tear 
ing  off  yards  of  sentiment.  It  is  likely  I'd  do  that, 
isn't  it! — but  I  don't  care  what  she  thinks.  Besides, 
it  behooves  her  to  be  agreeable,  and  she  knows  that  I 
know  it  does !  Voila! 

"  By  the  way,  I  saw  Mrs.  Gerard's  pretty  ward 
at  the  theatre  kst  night — Miss  Erroll.  She  certainly  is 
stunning " 

Selwyn  flattened  out  the  letter  and  deliberately  tore 
out  the  last  paragraph.  Then  he  set  it  afire  with  a 
match. 

"  At  least,"  he  said  with  an  ugly  look,  "  I  can  keep 
her  out  of  this  " ;  and  he  dropped  the  brittle  black 
ened  paper  and  set  his  heel  on  it.  Then  he  resumed 
his  perusal  of  the  mutilated  letter,  reread  it,  and  finally 
destroyed  it. 

"  Alixe,"  he  wrote  in  reply,  "  we  had  better  stop 
this  letter-writing  before  somebody  stops  us.  Any 
body  desiring  to  make  mischief  might  very  easily  mis 
interpret  what  we  are  doing.  I,  of  course,  could  not 
close  the  correspondence,  so  I  ask  vou  to  do  so  with- 

166 


AFTERGLOW 


out   any   fear   that   you   will   fail   to   understand   why 
I  ask  it.     Will  you?" 


To  which  she  replied: 
"  Yes,  Phil.     Good-bye. 


"  ALIKE." 


A  box  of  roses  left  her  his  debtor;  she  was  too 
intelligent  to  acknowledge  them.  Besides,  matters  were 
going  better  with  her. 

And  that  was  all  for  a  while. 

Meanwhile  Lent  had  gone,  and  with  it  the  last 
soiled  snow  of  winter.  It  was  an  unusually  early 
spring;  tulips  in  Union  Square  appeared  coincident 
with  crocus  and  snow-drop ;  high  above  the  city's  haze 
wavering  wedges  of  wild-fowl  drifted  toward  the  Can 
ada  s ;  a  golden  perfumed  bloom  clotted  the  naked 
branches  of  the  park  shrubs ;  Japanese  quince  burst 
into  crimson  splendour ;  tender  chestnut  leaves  unfolded ; 
the  willows  along  the  Fifty-ninth  Street  wall  waved  ban 
ners  of  gilded  green;  and  through  the  sunshine  bat 
tered  butterflies  floated,  and  the  wild  bees  reappeared, 
scrambling  frantically,  powdered  to  the  thighs  in  the 
pollen  of  a  million  dandelions. 

"  Spring,  with  that  nameless  fragrance  in  the  air 
Which  breathes  of  all  things  fair," 

sang  a  young  girl  riding  in  the  Park.  And  she  smiled 
to  herself  as  she  guided  her  mare  through  the  flower 
ing  labyrinths.  Other  notes  of  the  Southern  poet's 
haunting  song  stole  soundless  from  her  lips ;  for  it 
was  only  her  heart  that  was  singing  there  in  the  sun, 
while  her  silent,  smiling  mouth  mocked  the  rushing 
melody  of  the  birds. 

12  167 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Behind  her,  powerfully  mounted,  ambled  the  belted 
groom;  she  was  riding  alone  in  the  golden  weather  be 
cause  her  good  friend  Selwyn  was  very  busy  in  his 
office  downtown,  and  Gerald,  who  now  rode  with  her 
occasionally,  was  downtown  also,  and  there  remained 
nobody  else  to  ride  with.  Also  the  horses  were  to  be 
sent  to  Silverside  soon,  and  she  wanted  to  use  them 
as  much  as  possible  while  the  Park  was  at  its  loveliest. 

She,  therefore,  galloped  conscientiously  every 
morning,  sometimes  with  Nina,  but  usually  alone.  And 
every  afternoon  she  and  Nina  drove  there,  drinking 
the  freshness  of  the  young  year — the  most  beautiful 
year  of  her  life,  she  told  herself,  in  all  the  exquisite 
maturity  of  her  adolescence. 

So  she  rode  on,  straight  before  her,  head  high, 
the  sun  striking  face  and  firm,  white  throat ;  and  in 
her  heart  laughed  spring  eternal,  whose  voiceless  mel 
ody  parted  her  lips. 

Breezes  blowing  from  beds  of  iris  quickened  her 
breath  with  their  perfume;  she  saw  the  tufted  lilacs 
sway  in  the  wind,  and  the  streamers  of  mauve-tinted 
wistaria  swinging,  all  a-glisten  with  golden  bees ;  she 
saw  a  crimson  cardinal  winging  through  the  foliage, 
and  amorous  tanagers  flashing  like  scarlet  flames 
athwart  the  pines. 

From  rock  and  bridge  and  mouldy  archway  tender 
tendrils  of  living  green  fluttered,  brushing  her  cheeks. 
Beneath  the  thickets  the  under-wood  world  was  very 
busy,  where  squirrels  squatted  or  prowled  and  cunning 
fox-sparrows  avoided  the  starlings  and  blackbirds ;  and 
the  big  cinnamon-tinted,  speckle-breasted  thrashers 
scuffled  among  last  year's  leaves  or,  balanced  on  some 
leafy  spray,  carolled  ecstatically  of  this  earthly  para 
dise. 

168 


AFTERGLOW 


It  was  near  Eighty-sixth  Street  that  a  girl,  splen 
didly  mounted,  saluted  her,  and  wheeling,  joined  her — 
a  blond,  cool-skinned,  rosy-tinted,  smoothly  groomed 
girl,  almost  too  perfectly  seated,  almost  too  flawless 
and  supple  in  the  perfect  symmetry  of  face  and  figure. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  she  said  gaily,  "  you  are  cer 
tainly  spring  incarnate,  Miss  Erroll — the  living  em 
bodiment  of  all  this !  "  She  swung  her  riding-crop  in 
a  circle  and  laughed,  showing  her  perfect  teeth.  "  But 
where  is  that  faithful  attendant  cavalier  of  yours  this 
morning?  Is  he  so  grossly  material  that  he  prefers 
Wall  Street,  as  does  my  good  lord  and  master?  " 

"Do  you  mean  Gerald?"  asked  Eileen  innocently, 
"or  Captain  Selwyn?" 

"  Oh,  either,"  returned  Rosamund  airily ;  "  a  girl 
should  have  something  masculine  to  talk  to  on  a  morn 
ing  like  this.  Failing  that  she  should  have  some  pleas 
ant  memories  of  indiscretions  past  and  others  to  come, 
D.  V. ;  at  least  one  little  souvenir  to  repent — smilingly. 
Oh,  la !  Oh,  me !  All  these  wretched  birds  a-courting 
and  I  bumping  along  on  Dobbin,  lacking  even  my  own 
Gilpin!  Shall  we  gallop?" 

Eileen  nodded. 

When  at  length  they  pulled  up  along  the  reservoir, 
Eileen's  hair  had  rebelled  as  usual  and  one  bright 
strand  curled  like  a  circle  of  ruddy  light  across  her 
cheek;  but  Rosamund  drew  bridle  as  immaculate  as 
ever  and  coolly  inspected  her  companion. 

"  What  gorgeous  hair,"  she  said,  staring.  "  It's 
worth  a  coronet,  you  know — if  you  ever  desire  one." 

"  I  don't,"  said  the  girl,  laughing  and  attempting 
to  bring  the  insurgent  curl  under  discipline. 

"  I  dare  say  you're  right ;  coronets  are  out  of  vogue 
among  us  now.  It's  the  fashion  to  marry  our  own 

169 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


good  people.  By  the  way,  you  are  continuing  to 
astonish  the  town,  I  hear." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Fane?" 

"  Why,  first  it  was  Sudbury,  then  Draymore,  and 
now  everybody  says  that  Boots " 

"Boots!"  repeated  Miss  Erroll  blankly,  then 
laughed  deliciously. 

"  Poor,  poor  Boots !  Did  they  say  that  about  him? 
Oh,  it  really  is  too  bad,  Mrs.  Fane;  it  is  certainly 
horridly  impertinent  of  people  to  say  such  things. 
My  only  consolation  is  that  Boots  won't  care;  and  if 
he  doesn't,  why  should  I  ?  " 

Rosamund  nodded,  crossing  her  crop. 

"  At  first,  though,  I  did  care,"  continued  the  girl. 
"  I  was  so  ashamed  that  people  should  gossip  whenever 
a  man  was  trying  to  be  nice  to  me " 

"  Pooh !  It's  always  the  men's  own  faults.  Don't 
you  suppose  the  martyr's  silence  is  noisier  than  a 
shriek  of  pain  from  the  house-tops?  I  know — a  little 
about  men,"  added  Rosamund  modestly,  "  and  they  in 
variably  say  to  themselves  after  a  final  rebuff :  '  Now, 
I'll  be  patient  and  brave  and  I'll  bear  with  noble  dig 
nity  this  cataclysm  which  has  knocked  the  world  gal 
ley-west  for  me  and  loosened  the  moon  in  its  socket 
and  spoiled  the  symmetry  of  the  sun.'  And  they  go 
about  being  so  conspicuously  brave  that  any  debutante 
can  tell  what  hurts  them." 

Eileen  was  still  laughing,  but  not  quite  at  her  ease 
— the  theme  being  too  personal  to  suit  her.  In  fact, 
there  usually  seemed  to  be  too  much  personality  in 
Rosamund's  conversation — a  certain  artificial  indiffer 
ence  to  convention,  which  she,  Eileen,  did  not  feel  any 
desire  to  disregard.  For  the  elements  of  reticence  and 
of  delicacy  were  inherent  in  her;  the  training  of  a 

170 


AFTERGLOW 


young  girl  had  formalised  them  into  rules.  But  since 
her  debut  she  had  witnessed  and  heard  so  many  vio 
lations  of  convention  that  now  she  philosophically  ac 
cepted  such,  when  they  came  from  her  elders,  merely 
reserving  her  own  convictions  in  matters  of  personal 
taste  and  conduct. 

For  a  while,  as  they  rode,  Rosamund  was  charac 
teristically  amusing,  sailing  blandly  over  the  shoals 
of  scandal,  though  Eileen  never  suspected  it — wittily 
gay  at  her  own  expense,  as  well  as  at  others,  flitting 
airily  from  topic  to  topic  on  the  wings  of  a  self- 
assurance  that  becomes  some  women  if  they  know 
when  to  stop.  But  presently  the  mischievous  perver 
sity  in  her  bubbled  up  again;  she  was  tired  of  being 
good ;  she  had  often  meant  to  try  the  effect  of  a  gentle 
shock  on  Miss  Erroll;  and,  besides,  she  wondered  just 
how  much  truth  there  might  be  in  the  unpleasantly  per 
sistent  rumour  of  the  girl's  unannounced  engagement  to 
Selwyn. 

"  It  would  be  amusing,  wouldn't  it?  "  she  asked  with 
guileless  frankness ;  "  but,  of  course,  it  is  not  true — 
this  report  of  their  reconciliation." 

"Whose  reconciliation?"  asked  Miss  Erroll  inno 
cently. 

"  Why,  Alixe  Ruthven  and  Captain  Selwyn.  Every 
body  is  discussing  it,  you  know." 

"Reconciled?  I  don't  understand,"  said  Eileen, 
astonished.  "  They  can't  be ;  how  can " 

"  But  it  would  be  amusing,  wouldn't  it  ?  and  she 
could  very  easily  get  rid  of  Jack  Ruthven — any  woman 
could.  So  if  they  really  mean  to  remarry " 

The  girl  stared,  breathless,  astounded,  bolt  upright 
in  her  saddle. 

"  Oh !  "  she  protested,  while  the  hot  blood  mantled 
171 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


throat  and  cheek,  "  it  is  wickedly  untrue.     How  could 
such  a  thing  be  true,  Mrs.  Fane!     It  is — is  so  sense- 

"  That  is  what  I  say,"  nodded  Rosamund ;  "  it's  so 
perfectly  senseless  that  it's  amusing — even  if  they  have 
become  such  amazingly  good  friends  again.  /  never 
believed  there  was  anything  seriously  sentimental  in  the 
situation ;  and  their  renewed  interest  in  each  other  is 
quite  the  most  frankly  sensible  way  out  of  any  awk 
wardness,"  she  added  cordially. 

Miserably  uncomfortable,  utterly  unable  to  compre 
hend,  the  girl  rode  on  in  silence,  her  ears  ringing  with 
Rosamund's  words.  And  Rosamund,  riding  beside  her, 
cool,  blond,  and  cynically  amused,  continued  the  theme 
with  admirable  pretence  of  indifference : 

"  It's  a  pity  that  ill-natured  people  are  for  ever  dis 
cussing  them;  and  it  makes  me  indignant,  because  I've 
always  been  very  fond  of  Alixe  Ruthven,  and  I  am 
positive  that  she  does  not  correspond  with  Captain  Sel- 
wyn.  A  girl  in  her  position  would  be  crazy  to  invite 

suspicion   by   doing   the   things    they    say   she   is    do- 

, » 

"  Don't,  Mrs.  Fane,  please,  don't ! "  stammered 
Eileen ;  "  I — I  really  can't  listen.  I  simply  will  not !  " 
Then  bewildered,  hurt,  and  blindly  confused  as  she 
was,  the  instinct  to  defend  flashed  up — though  from 
what  she  was  defending  him  she  did  not  realise :  "  It 
is  utterly  untrue !  "  she  exclaimed  hotly — "  all  that 
yo — all  that  they  say ! — whoever  they  are — whatever 
they  mean.  I  cannot  understand  it — I  don't  under 
stand,  and  I  will  not !  Nor  will  he ! "  she  added  with 
a  scornful  conviction  that  disconcerted  Rosamund ; 
"  for  if  you  knew  him  as  I  do,  Mrs.  Fane,  you  would 
never,  never  have  spoken  as  you  have." 


AFTERGLOW 


Mrs.  Fane  relished  neither  the  naive  rebuke  nor  the 
intimation  that  her  own  acquaintance  with  Selwyn  was 
so  limited;  and  least  of  all  did  she  relish  the  implied 
intimacy  between  this  red-haired  young  girl  and  Cap 
tain  Selwyn. 

"  Dear  Miss  Erroll,"  she  said  blandly,  "  I  spoke  as 
I  did  only  to  assure  you  that  I,  also,  disregard  such 
malicious  gossip " 

"  But  if  you  disregard  it,  Mrs.  Fane,  why  do  you 
repeat  it?" 

"  Merely  to  emphasise  to  you  my  disbelief  in  it, 
child,"  returned  Rosamund.  "  Do  you  understand?  " 

"  Y-es ;  thank  you.  Yet,  I  should  never  have  heard 
of  it  at  all  if  you  had  not  told  me." 

Rosamund's  colour  rose  one  degree: 

"  It  is  better  to  hear  such  things  from  a  friend,  is 
it  not?" 

"  I  didn't  know  that  one's  friends  said  such  things ; 
but  perhaps  it  is  better  that  way,  as  you  say,  only, 
I  cannot  understand  the  necessity  of  my  knowing — of 
my  hearing — because  it  is  Captain  Selwyn's  affair,  after 
all." 

"  And  that,"  said  Rosamund  deliberately,  "  is  why 
I  told  you." 

"  Told  me?  Oh — because  he  and  I  are  such  close 
friends?" 

"  Yes — such  very  close  friends  that  I  " — she  laughed 
— "  I  am  informed  that  your  interests  are  soon  to  be 
identical." 

The  girl  swung  round,  self-possessed,  but  dread 
fully  pale. 

"  If  you  believed  that,"  she  said,  "  it  was  vile  of 
you  to  say  what  you  said,  Mrs.  Fane." 

"  But  I  did  not  believe  it,  child !  "  stammered  Rosa- 
173 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


mund,  several  degrees  redder  than  became  her,  and  now 
convinced  that  it  was  true.  "  I  n-never  dreamed  of 
offending  you,  Miss  Erroll " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  too  ignorant  to  take  of 
fence?  "  said  the  girl  unsteadily.  "I  told  you  very 
plainly  that  I  did  not  understand  the  matters  you  chose 
for  discussion ;  but  I  do  understand  impertinence  when 
I  am  driven  to  it." 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry  that  you  believe  I  meant  it 
that  way,"  said  Rosamund,  biting  her  lips. 

"  What  did  you  mean  ?  You  are  older  than  I,  you 
are  certainly  experienced ;  besides,  you  are  married.  If 
you  can  give  it  a  gentler  name  than  insolence  I  would 
be  glad — for  your  sake,  Mrs.  Fane.  I  only  know  that 
you  have  spoiled  my  ride,  spoiled  the  day  for  me,  hurt 
me,  humiliated  me,  and  awakened,  not  curiosity,  not 
suspicion,  but  the  horror  of  it,  in  me.  You  did  it 
once  before — at  the  Minsters'  dance;  not,  perhaps, 
that  you  deliberately  meant  to ;  but  you  did  it.  And 
your  subject  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  Captain  Selwyn — 
my  friend " 

Her  voice  became  unsteady  again  and  her  mouth 
curved;  but  she  held  her  head  high  and  her  eyes  were 
as  fearlessly  direct  as  a  child's. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  calmly,  "  you  know  where  I 
stand  and  what  I  will  not  stand.  Natural  deference  to 
an  older  woman,  the  natural  self -distrust  of  a  girl  in 
the  presence  of  social  experience — and  under  its  pro 
tection  as  she  had  a  right  to  suppose — prevented  me 
from  checking  you  when  your  conversation  became  dis 
tasteful.  You,  perhaps,  mistook  my  reticence  for  ac 
quiescence  ;  and  you  were  mistaken.  I  am  still  quite  will 
ing  to  remain  on  agreeable  terms  with  you,  if  you  wish, 
and  to  forget  what  you  have  done  to  me  this  morning." 

174 


AFTERGLOW 


If  Rosamund  had  anything  left  to  say,  or  any 
breath  to  say  it,  there  were  no  indications  of  it.  Never 
in  her  flippant  existence  had  she  been  so  absolutely 
flattened  by  any  woman.  As  for  this  recent  graduate 
from  fudge  and  olives,  she  could  scarcely  realise  how 
utterly  and  finally  she  had  been  silenced  by  her.  In 
credulity,  exasperation,  amazement  had  succeeded  each 
other  while  Miss  Erroll  was  speaking;  chagrin,  shame, 
helplessness  followed  as  bitter  residue.  But,  in  the  end, 
the  very  incongruity  of  the  situation  came  to  her  aid ; 
for  Rosamund  very  easily  fell  a  prey  to  the  absurd — 
even  when  the  amusement  was  furnished  at  her  own  ex 
pense  ;  and  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  had  more  than 
once  saved  her  dainty  skirts  from  a  rumpling  that  her 
modesty  perhaps  might  have  forgiven. 

"  I'm  certainly  a  little  beast,"  she  said  impulsively, 
"  but  I  really  do  like  you.  Will  you  forgive?  " 

No  genuine  appeal  to  the  young  girl's  generosity 
had  ever  been  in  vain ;  she  forgave  almost  as  easily  as 
she  breathed.  Even  now  in  the  flush  of  just  resentment 
it  was  not  hard  for  her  to  forgive;  she  hesitated  only 
in  order  to  adjust  matters  in  her  own  mind. 

Mrs.  Fane  swung  her  horse  and  held  out  her  right 
hand: 

"Is  it  pax.  Miss  Erroll?  I'm  really  ashamed  of 
myself.  Won't  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  girl,  laying  her  gloved  hand 
on  Rosamund's  very  lightly ;  "  I've  often  thought,"  she 
added  naively,  "  that  I  could  like  you,  Mrs.  Fane,  if 
you  would  only  give  me  a  chance." 

"  I'll  try — you  blessed  innocent !  You've  torn  me 
into  rags  and  tatters,  and  you  did  it  adorably.  What 
I  said  was  idle,  half-witted,  gossiping  nonsense.  So 
forget  every  atom  of  it  as  soon  as  you  can,  my 

175 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


dear,  and  let  me  prove  that  I'm  not  an  utter  idiot, 
if  /  can." 

"  That  will  be  delightful,"  said  Eileen  with  a  de 
mure  smile;  and  Rosamund  laughed,  too,  with  full- 
hearted  laughter;  for  trouble  sat  very  lightly  on  her 
perfect  shoulders  in  the  noontide  of  her  strength  and 
youth.  Sin  and  repentance  were  rapid  matters  with 
Rosamund ;  cause,  effect,  and  remorse  a  quick  sequence 
to  be  quickly  reckoned  up,  checked  off,  and  cancelled ; 
and  the  next  blank  page  turned  over  to  be  ruled  and 
filled  with  the  next  impeachment. 

There  was,  in  her,  more  of  mischief  than  of  real 
malice;  and  if  she  did  pinch  people  to  see  them  wiggle 
it  was  partly  because  she  supposed  that  the  pain  would 
be  as  momentary  as  the  pinch;  for  nothing  lasted  with 
her,  not  even  the  wiggle.  So  why  should  the  pain  pro 
duced  by  a  furtive  tweak  interfere  with  the  amusement 
she  experienced  in  the  victim's  jump? 

But  what  had  often  saved  her  from  a  social  lynch 
ing  was  her  ability  to  laugh  at  her  own  discomfiture, 
and  her  unfeigned  liking  and  respect  for  the  turning 
worm. 

"  And,  my  dear,"  she  said,  concluding  the  account 
of  the  adventure  to  Mrs.  Ruthven  that  afternoon  at 
Sherry's,  "  I've  never  been  so  roundly  abused  and  so 
soundly  trounced  in  my  life  as  I  was  this  blessed  morn 
ing  by  that  red-headed  novice!  Oh,  my!  Oh,  la!  I 
could  have  screamed  with  laughter  at  my  own  undoing." 

"  It's  what  you  deserved,"  said  Alixe,  intensely  an 
noyed,  although  Rosamund  had  not  told  her  all  that 
she  had  so  kindly  and  gratuitously  denied  concerning 
her  relations  with  Selwyn.  "  It  was  sheer  effrontery  of 
you,  Rosamund,  to  put  such  notions  into  the  head  of 

176 


AFTERGLOW 


a  child  and  stir  her  up  into  taking  a  fictitious  interest 
in  Philip  Selwyn  which  I  know — which  is  perfectly 
plain  to  m — to  anybody  never  existed !  " 

"  Of  course  it  existed !  "  retorted  Rosamund,  de 
lighted  now  to  worry  Alixe.  "  She  didn't  know  it ;  that 
is  all.  It  really  was  simple  charity  to  wake  her  up. 
It's  a  good  match,  too,  and  so  obviously  and  natu 
rally  inevitable  that  there's  no  harm  in  playing  proph 
etess.  .  .  .  Anyway,  what  do  we  care,  dear?  Unless 
you " 

"  Rosamund ! "  said  Mrs.  Ruthven  exasperated, 
"  will  you  ever  acquire  the  elements  of  reticence  ?  I 
don't  know  why  people  endure  you;  I  don't,  indeed! 
And  they  won't  much  longer " 

"  Yes,  they  will,  dear ;  that's  what  society  is  for — 
a  protective  association  for  the  purpose  of  enduring 
impossible  people.  ...  I  wish,"  she  added,  "  that  it 
included  husbands,  because  in  some  sets  it's  getting  to 
be  one  dreadful  case  of  who's  whose.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

Alixe,  externally  calm  but  raging  inwardly,  sat 
pulling  on  her  gloves,  heartily  sorry  she  had  lunched 
with  Rosamund. 

The  latter,  already  gloved,  had  risen  and  was  coolly 
surveying  the  room. 

"  Tiens!  "  she  said,  "  there  is  the  youthful  brother 
of  our  red-haired  novice,  now.  He  sees  us  and  he's 
coming  to  inflict  himself — with  another  moon-faced 
creature.  Shall  we  bolt?" 

Alixe  turned  and  stared  at  Gerald,  who  came  up 
boyishly  red  and  impetuous : 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Ruthven ;  did  you  get  my 
note?  How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Fane;  awf'lly  jolly  to  col 
lide  this  way.  Would  you  mind  if " 

177 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  You,"  interrupted  Rosamund,  "  ought  to  be 
downtown — unless  you've  concluded  to  retire  and  let 
Wall  Street  go  to  smash.  What  are  you  pretending 
to  do  in  Sherry's  at  this  hour,  you  very  dreadful  in 
fant?  " 

"  I've  been  lunching  with  Mr.  Neergard — and 
would  you  mind " 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  began  Rosamund,  promptly,  but 
Alixe  interrupted :  "  Bring  him  over,  Gerald."  And  as 
the  boy  thanked  her  and  turned  back: 

"  I've  a  word  to  administer  to  that  boy,  Rosamund, 
so  attack  the  Neergard  creature  with  moderation, 
please.  You  owe  me  that  at  least." 

"  No,  I  don't !  "  said  Rosamund,  disgusted ;  "  I 
won't  be  afflicted  with  a " 

"  Nobody  wants  you  to  be  too  civil  to  him,  silly ! 
But  Gerald  is  in  his  office,  and  I  want  Gerald  to  do 
something  for  me.  Please,  Rosamund." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Here  he  is  now ;  and  don't  be  im 
possible  and  frighten  him,  Rosamund." 

The  presentation  of  Neergard  was  accomplished 
without  disaster  to  anybody.  On  his  thin  nose  the  dew 
glistened,  and  his  thick  fat  hands  were  hot;  but  Rosa 
mund  was  too  bored  to  be  rude  to  him,  and  Alixe 
turned  immediately  to  Gerald: 

"  Yes,  I  did  get  your  note,  but  I'm  not  at  home 
on  Tuesday.  Can't  you  come — wait  a  moment ! — what 
are  you  doing  this  afternoon?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  going  back  to  the  office  with  Mr.  Neer 
gard » 

"Nonsense!  Oh,  Mr.  Neergard,  would  you  mind  " 
— very  sweetly — "  if  Mr.  Erroll  did  not  go  to  the  office 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

178 


AFTERGLOW 


Neergard  looked  at  her — almost — a  fixed  and  un 
comfortable  smirk  on  his  round,  red  face :  "  Not  at 
all,  Mrs.  Ruthven,  if  you  have  anything  better  for 
him " 

"  I  have — an  allopathic  dose  of  it.  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Neergard.  Rosamund,  we  ought  to  start,  you  know : 
Gerald !  " — with  quiet  significance — "  goo d-bye,  Mr. 
Neergard.  Please  do  not  buy  up  the  rest  of  Long 
Island,  because  we  need  a  new  kitchen-garden  very 
badly." 

Rosamund  scarcely  nodded  his  dismissal.  And  the 
next  moment  Neergard  found  himself  quite  alone, 
standing  with  the  smirk  still  stamped  on  his  stiffened 
features,  his  hat-brim  and  gloves  crushed  in  his  rigid 
fingers,  his  little  black  mousy  eyes  fixed  on  nothing,  as 
usual. 

A  wandering  head-waiter  thought  they  were  fixed 
on  him  and  sidled  up  hopeful  of  favours,  but  Neer 
gard  suddenly  snarled  in  his  face  and  moved  toward 
the  door,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  nose  with 
the  most  splendid  handkerchief  ever  displayed  east  of 
Sixth  Avenue  and  west  of  Third. 

Mrs.  Ruthven's  motor  moved  up  from  its  waiting 
station ;  Rosamund  was  quite  ready  to  enter  when  Alixe 
said  cordially:  "Where  can  we  drop  you,  dear?  Do 
let  us  take  you  to  the  exchange  if  you  are  going 
there " 

Now  Rosamund  had  meant  to  go  wherever  they 
were  going,  merely  because  they  evidently  wished  to  be 
alone.  The  abruptness  of  the  check  both  irritated  and 
amused  her. 

"  If  I  knew  anybody  in  the  Bronx  I'd  make  you 
take  me  there,"  she  said  vindictively ;  "  but  as  I  don't 
you  may  drop  me  at  the  Orchils' — you  uncivil  creatures. 

179 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Gerald,  I  know  you  want  me,  anyway,  because  you've 
promised  to  adore,  honour,  and  obey  me.  ...  If  you'll 
come  with  me  now  I'll  play  double  dummy  with  you. 
No?  Well,  of  all  ingratitude!  .  .  .  Thank  you,  dear, 
I  perceive  that  this  is  Fifth  Avenue,  and  furthermore 
that  this  ramshackle  chassis  of  yours  has  apparently 
broken  down  at  the  Orchils'  curb.  .  .  .  Good-bye,  Ger 
ald;  it  never  did  run  smooth,  you  know.  I  mean  the 
course  of  T.  L.  as  well  as  this  motor.  Try  to  be  a  good 
boy  and  keep  moving ;  a  roll^njrstone  acquires  a  polish, 
and  you  are  not  in  the  mols-growing  business,  I'm 
sure " 

"  Rosamund !  For  gol^plness'  sake !  "  protested 
Alixe,  her  gloved  hands  at/her  ears. 

"  Dear !  "  said  Rosanjflhd  cheerfully,  "  take  your 
horrid  little  boy! 

And  she  smiled  dazzlftafgl^upon  Gerald,  then  turned 
up  her  pretty  nose>^^ljim,  but  permitted  him  to  at 
tend  her  to  the  door. 

When  he  returned] to  Alixe,  and  the  car  was  speed 
ing  Parkward.  he^began  again,  eagerly : 

"  Jack  as^etfNne  to  come  up  and,  of  course,  I  let 
you  know,  as  Ispromised  I  would.  But  it's  all  right, 
Mrs.  Ruthven,  pecause  Jack  said  the  stakes  will  not 
be  high  this 

"  You  accepted ! "  demanded  Alixe,  in  quick  dis 
pleasure. 

"  Why,  yes — as  the  stakes  are  not  to  amount  to 
anything " 

"Gerald!" 

"What?"  he  said  uneasily. 

"  You  promised  me  that  you  would  not  play  again 
in  my  house !  " 

"  I — I  said,  for  more  than  I  could  afford " 

180 


AFTERGLOW 


"  No,  you  said  you  would  not  play ;  that  is  what 
you  promised,  Gerald." 

"  Well,  I  meant  for  high  stakes ;  I — well,  you 
don't  want  to  drive  me  out  altogether — even  from  the 
perfectly  harmless  pleasure  of  playing  for  nominal 
stakes " 


<  Yes,  I  do !  " 
"  W-why  ?  "  asked  the  boy  in  hurt  surprise. 

"  Because  it  is  dangerous  sport,  Gerald 

"  What !     To  play  for  a  few  cents  a  point- 


"  Yes,  to  play  for  anything.  And  as  far  as  that 
goes  there  will  be  no  such  play  as  you  imagine." 

"  Yes,  there  will — I  beg  your  pardon — but  Jack 
Ruthven  said  so " 

"  Gerald,  listen  to  me.  A  bo — a  man  like  yourself 
has  no  business  playing  with  people  whose  losses  never 
interfere  with  their  appetites  next  day.  A  business 
man  has  no  right  to  play  such  a  game,  anyway.  I 
wonder  what  Mr.  Neergard  would  say  if  he  knew 
you " 

"  Neergard !    Why,  he  does  know." 

"  You  confessed  to  him  ?  " 

"  Y-es ;  I  had  to.  I  was  obliged  to — to  ask  some 
body  for  an  advance " 

"  You  went  to  him  ?  Why  didn't  you  go  to  Cap 
tain  Selwyn? — or  to  Mr.  Gerard?  " 

"  I  did ! — not  to  Captain  Selwyn — I  was  ashamed 
to.  But  I  went  to  Austin  and  he  fired  up  and  lit 
into  me — and  we  had  a  muss-up — and  I've  stayed 
away  since." 

"  Oh,  Gerald !    And  it  simply  proves  me  right." 

"  No,  it  doesn't ;  I  did  go  to  Neergard  and  made 
a  clean  breast  of  it.  And  he  let  me  have  what  I  wanted 

like  a  good  fellow " 

181 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  And  made  you  promise  not  to  do  it  again ! " 

"  No,  he  didn't ;  he  only  laughed.  Besides,  he  said 
that  he  wished  he  had  been  in  the  game " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Alixe. 

"  He's  a  first-rate  fellow,"  insisted  Gerald,  red 
dening  ;  "  and  it  was  very  nice  of  you  to  let  me  bring 
him  over  to-day.  .  .  .  And  he  knows  everj^body  down 
town,  too.  He  comes  from  a  very  old  Dutch  family, 
but  he  had  to  work  pretty  hard  and  do  without  col 
lege.  .  .  .  I'd  like  it  awfully  if  you'd  let  me — if  you 
wouldn't  mind  being  civil  to  him — once  or  twice,  you 
know- " 

Mrs.  Ruthven  lay  back  in  her  seat,  thoroughly  an 
noyed. 

"  My  theory,"  insisted  the  boy  with  generous  con 
viction,  "  is  that  a  man  is  what  he  makes  himself. 
People  talk  about  climbers  and  butter s-in,  but  where 
would  anybody  be  in  this  town  if  nobody  had  ever 
butted  in?  It's  all  rot,  this  aping  the  caste  rules  of 
established  aristocracies;  a  decent  fellow  ought  to  be 
encouraged.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  propose  him  for  the 
Stuyvesant  and  the  Proscenium.  Why  not?  " 

"  I  see.  And  now  you  propose  to  bring  him  to  my 
house?" 

"  If  you'll  let  me.  I  asked  Jack  and  he  seemed  to 
think  it  might  be  all  right  if  you  cared  to  ask  him 
to  play " 

"  I  won't !  "  cried  Alixe,  revolted.  "  I  will  not  turn 
my  drawing-rooms  into  a  clearing-house  for  every 
money-laden  social  derelict  in  town !  I've  had  enough 
of  that;  I've  endured  the  accumulated  wreckage  too 
long ! — weird  treasure-craft  full  of  steel  and  oil  and 
coal  and  wheat  and  Heaven  knows  what ! — I  won't  do 
it,  Gerald ;  I'm  sick  of  it  all — sick !  sick !  " 

182 


AFTERGLOW 


The  sudden,  flushed  outburst  stunned  the  boy. 
Bewildered,  he  stared  round-eyed  at  the  excited  young 
matron  who  was  growing  more  incensed  and  more  care 
less  of  what  she  exposed  every  second: 

"  I  will  not  make  a  public  gambling-hell  out  of  my 
own  house ! "  she  repeated,  dark  eyes  very  bright  and 
cheeks  afire ;  "  I  will  not  continue  to  stand  sponsor  for 
a  lot  of  queer  people  simply  because  they  don't  care 
what  they  lose  in  Mrs.  Ruthven's  house!  You  babble 
to  me  of  limits,  Gerald ;  this  is  the  limit !  Do  you 
— or  does  anybody  else  suppose  that  I  don't  know  what 
is  being  said  about  us? — that  play  is  too  high  in  our 
house? — that  we  are  not  too  difficile  in  our  choice  of 
intimates  as  long  as  they  can  stand  the  pace ! " 

"  I — I  never  believed  that,"  insisted  the  boy,  mis 
erable  to  see  the  tears  flash  in  her  eyes  and  her  mouth 
quiver. 

"  You  may  as  well  believe  it  for  it's  true !  "  she  said, 
exasperated. 

"  T-true !— Mrs.  Ruthven !  " 

"  Yes,  true,  Gerald !  I — I  don't  care  whether  you 
know  it ;  I  don't  care,  as  long  as  you  stay  away.  I'm 
sick  of  it  all,  I  tell  you.  Do  you  think  I  was  educated 
for  this  ? — for  the  wife  of  a  chevalier  of  industry " 

"  M-Mrs.  Ruthven !  "  he  gasped ;  but  she  was  ab 
solutely  reckless  now — and  beneath  it  all,  perhaps,  lay 
a  certainty  of  the  boy's  honour.  She  knew  he  was 
to  be  trusted — was  the  safest  receptacle  for  wrath  so 
long  repressed.  She  let  prudence  go  with  a  parting 
and  vindictive  slap,  and  opened  her  heart  to  the 
astounded  boy.  The  tempest  lasted  a  few  seconds; 
then  she  ended  as  abruptly  as  she  began. 

To  him  she  had  always  been  what  a  pretty  young 
matron  usually  is  to  a  well-bred  but  hare-brained  youth 
13  183 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


just  un tethered.  Their  acquaintance  had  been  for  him 
a  combination  of  charming  experiences  diluted  with 
gratitude  for  her  interest  and  a  harmless  souppon  of 
sentimentality.  In  her  particular  case,  however,  there 
was  a  little  something  more — a  hint  of  the  forbidden — 
a  troubled  enjoyment,  because  he  knew,  of  course,  that 
Mrs.  Ruthven  was  on  no  footing  at  all  with  the  Gerards. 
So  in  her  friendship  he  savoured  a  piquancy  not  at 
all  distasteful  to  a  very  young  man's  palate. 

But  now! — he  had  never,  never  seen  her  like  this — 
nor  any  woman,  for  that  matter — and  he  did  not  know 
where  to  look  or  what  to  do. 

She  was  sitting  back  in  the  limousine,  very  limp 
and  flushed;  and  the  quiver  of  her  under  lip  and  the 
slightest  dimness  of  her  averted  brown  eyes  distressed 
him  dreadfully. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Ruthven,"  he  blurted  out  with  clumsy 
sympathy,  "  yeu  mustn't  think  such  things,  b-because 
they're  all  rot,  you  see;  and  if  any  fellow  ever  said 
those  things  to  me  I'd  jolly  soon " 

66  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  never  heard  us  criti 
cised?  " 

"  I — well — everybody  is — criticised,  of  course " 

"  But  not  as  we  are !  Do  you  read  the  papers  ? 
Well,  then,  do  you  understand  how  a  woman  must  feel 
to  have  her  husband  continually  made  the  butt  of 
foolish,  absurd,  untrue  stories — as  though  he  were  a 
performing  poodle!  I — I'm  sick  of  that,  too,  for  an 
other  thing.  Week  after  week,  month  by  month,  un 
pleasant  things  have  been  accumulating;  and  they're 
getting  too  heavy,  Gerald — too  crushing  for  my  shoul 
ders.  .  .  .  Men  call  me  restless.  What  wonder !  Wom 
en  link  my  name  with  any  man  who  is  k-kind  to  me! 
Is  there  no  excuse  then  for  what  they  call  my  rest- 

184 


AFTERGLOW 


lessness?  .  .  .  What  woman  would  not  be  restless  whose 
private  affairs  are  the  gossip  of  everybody?  Was  it 
not  enough  that  I  endured  terrific  publicity  when — 
when  trouble  overtook  me  two  years  ago?  ...  I  sup 
pose  I'm  a  fool  to  talk  like  this ;  but  a  girl  must  do 
it  some  time  or  burst ! — and  to  whom  am  I  to  go  ?  .  .  . 
There  was  only  one  person;  and  I  can't  talk  to — that 
one ;  he — that  person  knows  too  much  about  me,  anyway ; 
which  is  not  good  for  a  woman,  Gerald,  not  good  for 
a  good  woman.  ...  I  mean  a  pretty  good  woman ;  the 
kind  people's  sisters  can  still  talk  to,  you  know.  .  .  . 
For  I'm  nothing  more  interesting  than  a  divorcee, 
Gerald ;  nothing  more  dangerous  than  an  unhappy  little 
fool.  ...  I  wish  I  were.  .  .  .  But  I'm  still  at  the 
wheel !  .  .  .  A  man  I  know  calls  it  hard  steering  but 
assures  me  that  there's  anchorage  ahead.  .  .  .  He's  a 
splendid  fellow,  Gerald;  you  ought  to  know  him — well 
— some  day;  he's  just  a  clean-cut,  human,  blundering, 
erring,  unreasonable,  lovable  man  whom  any  woman, 
who  is  not  a  fool  herself,  could  manage.  .  .  .  Some 
day  I  should  like  to  have  you  know  him — intimately. 
He's  good  for  people  of  your  sort — even  good  for  a 
restless,  purposeless  woman  of  my  sort.  Peace  to  him ! 
— if  there's  any  in  the  world.  .  .  .  Turn  your  back; 
I'm  sniveling." 

A  moment  afterward  she  had  calmed  completely; 
and  now  she  stole  a  curious  side  glance  at  the  boy  and 
blushed  a  little  when  he  looked  back  at  her  earnestly. 
Then  she  smiled  and  quietly  withdrew  the  hand  he  had 
been  holding  so  tightly  in  both  of  his. 

"  So  there  we  are,  my  poor  friend,"  she  concluded 
with  a  shrug ;  "  the  old  penny  shocker,  you  know, 
*  Alone  in  a  great  city ! ' — I've  dropped  my  handker 


chief." 


185 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


66 1  want  you  to  believe  me  your  friend,"  said  Ger 
ald,  in  the  low,  resolute  voice  of  unintentional  melo 
drama. 

"  Why,  thank  you ;  are  you  so  sure  you  want  that, 
Gerald?" 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  I  live ! "  he  declared,  generous 
emotion  in  the  ascendant.  A  pretty  woman  upset  him 
very  easily  even  under  normal  circumstances.  But 
beauty  in  distress  knocked  him  flat — as  it  does  every 
wholesome  boy  who  is  worth  his  salt. 

And  he  said  so  in  his  own  naive  fashion;  and 
the  more  eloquent  he  grew  the  more  excited  he  grew 
and  the  deeper  and  blacker  appeared  her  wrongs  to 
him. 

At  first  she  humoured  him,  and  rather  enjoyed  his 
fresh,  eager  sympathy ;  after  a  little  his  increasing 
ardour  inclined  her  to  laugh;  but  it  was  very  splendid 
and  chivalrous  and  genuine  ardour,  and  the  inclination 
to  laugh  died  out,  for  emotion  is  contagious,  and  his 
earnestness  not  only  flattered  her  legitimately  but 
stirred  the  slackened  tension  of  her  heart-strings  until, 
tightening  again,  they  responded  very  faintly. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  lonely,"  he  declared. 

"  Sometimes  I  am,  a  little,  Gerald."  She  ought  to 
have  known  better.  Perhaps  she  did. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  "  couldn't  I  come  and " 

"  No,  Gerald." 

"  I  mean  just  to  see  you  sometimes  and  have  an 
other  of  these  jolly  talks " 

"  Do  you  call  this  a  jolly  talk?  " — with  deep  re 
proach. 

"  Why — not  exactly ;  but  I'm  awfully  interested, 
Mrs.  Ruthven,  and  we  understand  each  other  so 

well " 

186 


AFTERGLOW 


"  I  don't  understand  you"  she  was  imprudent 
enough  to  say. 

This  was  delightful!  Certainly  he  must  be  a  par 
ticularly  sad  and  subtle  dog  if  this  clever  but  misun 
derstood  young  matron  found  him  what  in  romance  is 
known  as  an  "  enigma." 

So  he  protested  with  smiling  humility  that  he  was 
quite  transparent;  she  insisted  on  doubting  him  and 
contrived  to  look  disturbed  in  her  mind  concerning  the 
probable  darkness  of  that  past  so  dear  to  any  young 
man  who  has  had  none. 

As  for  Alixe,  she  also  was  mildly  flattered — a  trifle 
disdainfully  perhaps,  but  still  genuinely  pleased  at  the 
honesty  of  this  crude  devotion.  She  was  touched,  too; 
and,  besides,  she  trusted  him ;  for  he  was  clearly  as  trans 
parent  as  the  spring  air.  Also  most  women  lugged  a 
boy  about  with  them;  she  had  had  several,  but  none 
as  nice  as  Gerald.  To  tie  him  up  and  tack  his  license 
on  was  therefore  natural  to  her;  and  if  she  hesitated 
to  conclude  his  subjection  in  short  order  it  was  that, 
far  in  a  corner  of  her  restless  soul,  there  hid  an  ever- 
latent  fear  of  Selwyn;  of  his  opinions  concerning  her 
fitness  to  act  mentor  to  the  boy  of  whom  he  was  fond, 
and  whose  devotion  to  him  was  unquestioned. 

Yet  now,  in  spite  of  that — perhaps  even  partly  be 
cause  of  it,  she  decided  on  the  summary  taming  of 
Gerald;  so  she  let  her  hand  fall,  by  accident,  close 
to  his  on  the  cushioned  seat,  to  see  what  he'd  do 
about  it. 

It  took  him  some  time  to  make  up  his  mind;  but 
when  he  did  he  held  it  so  gingerly,  so  respectfully,  that 
she  was  obliged  to  look  out  of  the  window.  Clearly 
he  was  quite  the  safest  and  nicest  of  all  the  unfledged 
she  had  ever  possessed. 

187 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Please,  don't,"  she  said  sadly. 

And  by  that  token  she  took  him  for  her  own. 

She  was  very  light-hearted  that  evening  when  she 
dropped  him  at  the  Stuyvesant  Club  and  whizzed  away 
-to  her  own  house,  for  he  had  promised  not  to  play 
again  on  her  premises,  and  she  had  promised  to  be 
nice  to  him  and  take  him  about  when  she  was  shy  of 
an  escort.  She  also  repeated  that  he  was  truly  an 
"  enigma  "  and  that  she  was  beginning  to  be  a  little 
afraid  of  him,  which  was  an  economical  way  of  mak 
ing  him  very  proud  and  happy.  Being  his  first  case 
of  beauty  in  distress,  and  his  first  harmless  love-affair 
with  a  married  woman,  he  looked  about  him  as  he  en 
tered  the  club  and  felt  truly  that  he  had  already  out 
grown  the  young  and  callow  innocents  who  haunted  it. 

On  her  way  home  Alixe  smilingly  reviewed  the  epi 
sode  until  doubt  of  Selwyn's  approval  crept  in  again ; 
and  her  amused  smile  had  faded  when  she  reached  her 
home.  * 

The  house  of  Ruthven  was  a  small  but  ultra-modern 
limestone  affair,  between  Madison  and  Fifth;  a  pocket- 
edition  of  the  larger  mansions  of  their  friends,  but 
with  less  excuse  for  the  overelaboration  since  the  di 
mensions  were  only  twenty  by  a  hundred.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact  its  narrow  ornate  fa9ade  presented  not  a 
single  quiet  space  the  eyes  might  rest  on  after  a  tiring 
attempt  to  follow  and  codify  the  arabesques,  foliations, 
and  intricate  vermiculations  of  what  some  disrespect 
fully  dubbed  as  "  near-aissance." 

However,  into  this  limestone  bonbon-box  tripped 
Mrs.  Ruthven,  mounted  the  miniature  stairs  with  a 
whirl  of  her  scented  skirts,  peeped  into  the  drawing- 

188 


AFTERGLOW 


room,  but  continued  mounting  until  she  whipped  into 
her  own  apartments,  separated  from  those  of  her  lord 
and  master  by  a  locked  door. 

That  is,  the  door  had  been  locked  for  a  long,  long 
time;  but  presently,  to  her  intense  surprise  and  an 
noyance,  it  slowly  opened,  and  a  little  man  appeared  in 
slippered  feet. 

He  was  a  little  man,  and  plump,  and  at  first  glance 
his  face  appeared  boyish  and  round  and  quite  guiltless 
of  hair  or  of  any  hope  of  it. 

But,  as  he  came  into  the  electric  light,  the  hard 
ness  of  his  features  was  apparent;  he  was  no  boy;  a 
strange  idea  that  he  had  never  been  assailed  some  peo 
ple.  His  face  was  puffy  and  pallid  and  faint  blue 
shadows  hinted  of  closest  shaving;  and  the  line  from 
the  wing  of  the  nostrils  to  the  nerveless  corners  of  his 
thin,  hard  mouth  had  been  deeply  bitten  by  the  acid 
of  unrest. 

For  the  remainder  he  wore  pale-rose  pajamas  under 
a  silk-and-silver  kimona,  an  obi  pierced  with  a  jewelled 
scarf-pin ;  and  he  was  smoking  a  cigarette  as  thin  as 
a  straw. 

"  Well ! "  said  his  young  wife  in  astonished  dis 
pleasure,  instinctively  tucking  her  feet — from  which 
her  maid  had  just  removed  the  shoes — under  her  own 
chamber-robe. 

"  Send  her  out  a  moment,"  he  said,  with  a  nod  of 
his  head  toward  the  maid.  His  voice  was  agreeable  and 
full — a  trifle  precise  and  overcultivated,  perhaps. 

When  the  maid  retired,  Alixe  sat  up  on  the  lounge, 
drawing  her  skirts  down  over  her  small  stockinged 
feet. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"The  matter  is,"  he  said,  "that  Gerald  has  just 
189 


THE   YOUNGER   SET 


telephoned    me    from    the    Stuyvesant    that    he    isn't 
coming." 

"Well?" 

"  No,  it  isn't  well.    This  is  some  of  your  meddling." 

"  What  if  it  is?  "  she  retorted;  but  her  breath  was 
coming  quicker. 

"  I'll  tell  you ;  you  can  get  up  and  ring  him  up 
and  tell  him  you  expect  him  to-night." 

She  shook  her  head,  eyeing  him  all  the  while. 

"  I  won't  do  it,  Jack.  What  do  you  want  him  for? 
He  can't  play  with  the  people  who  play  here;  he 
doesn't  know  the  rudiments  of  play.  He's  only  a  boy ; 
his  money  is  so  tied  up  that  he  has  to  borrow  if  he 
loses  very  much.  There's  no  sport  in  playing  with  a 
boy  like  that " 

"  So  you've  said  before,  I  believe,  but  I'm  better 
qualified  to  judge  than  you  are.  Are  you  going  to 
call  him  up  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not." 

He  turned  paler.  "  Get  up  and  go  to  that  tele 
phone!" 

"  You  little  whippet,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  was  once 
a  soldier's  wife — the  only  decent  thing  I  ever  have 
been.  This  bullying  ends  now — here,  at  this  instant! 
If  you've  any  dirty  work  to  do,  do  it  yourself.  I've 
done  my  share  and  I've  finished." 

He  was  astonished;  that  was  plain  enough.  But 
it  was  the  sudden  overwhelming  access  of  fury  that 
weakened  him  and  made  him  turn,  hand  outstretched, 
blindly  seeking  for  a  chair.  Rage,  even  real  anger, 
were  emotions  he  seldom  had  to  reckon  with,  for  he 
was  a  very  tired  and  bored  and  burned-out  gentleman, 
and  vivid  emotion  was  not  good  for  his  arteries,  the 
doctors  told  him. 

190 


AFTERGLOW 


He  found  his  chair,  stood  a  moment  with  his  back 
toward  his  wife,  then  very  slowly  let  himself  down  into 
the  chair  and  sat  facing  her.  There  was  moisture  on 
his  soft,  pallid  skin,  a  nervous  twitching  of  the  under 
lip ;  he  passed  one  heavily  ringed  hand  across  his 
closely  shaven  jaw,  still  staring  at  her. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said.  "  You've 
got  to  stop  your  interference  with  my  affairs,  and 
stop  it  now." 

"  I  am  not  interested  in  your  affairs,"  she  said  un 
steadily,  still  shaken  by  her  own  revolt,  still  under  the 
shock  of  her  own  arousing  to  a  resistance  that  had 
been  long,  long  overdue.  "  If  you  mean,"  she  went 
on,  "  that  the  ruin  of  this  boy  is  your  affair,  then  I'll 
make  it  mine  from  this  moment.  I've  told  you  that  he 
shall  not  play ;  and  he  shall  not.  And  while  I'm  about 
it  I'll  admit  what  you  are  preparing  to  accuse  me  of: 
I  did  make  Sandon  Craig  promise  to  keep  away ;  I  did 
try  to  make  that  little  fool  Scott  Innis  promise,  too; 
and  when  he  wouldn't  I  informed  his  father.  .  .  . 
And  every  time  you  try  your  dirty  bucket-shop  meth 
ods  on  boys  like  that,  Fll  do  the  same." 

He  swore  at  her  quite  calmly ;  she  smiled,  shrugged, 
and,  imprisoning  her  knees  in  her  clasped  hands,  leaned 
back  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  a  ninny  I  have  been,"  she  said,  "  to  be 
afraid  of  you  so  long ! " 

A  gleam  crossed  his  faded  eyes,  but  he  let  her  re 
mark  pass  for  the  moment.  Then,  when  he  was  quite 
sure  that  violent  emotion  had  been  exhausted  within 
him: 

"  Do  you  want  your  bills  paid?  "  he  asked.  "  Be 
cause,  if  you  do,  Fane,  Harmon  &  Co.  are  not  going 
to  pay  them." 

191 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  We  are  living  beyond  our  means  ?  "  she  inquired 
disdainfully. 

"  Not  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  mind  your 
business,  my  friend.  I've  managed  this  establishment 
on  our  winnings  for  two  years.  It's  a  detail;  but  you 
might  as  well  know  it.  My  association  with  Fane, 
Harmon  &  Co.  runs  the  Newport  end  of  it,  and  noth 
ing  more." 

"  What  did  you  marry  me  for  ?  "  she  asked  curi 
ously. 

A  slight  colour  came  into  his  face :  "  Because  that 
damned  Rosamund  Fane  lied  about  you." 

"Oh!  ...  You  knew  that  in  Manila?  You'd 
heard  about  it,  hadn't  you — the  Western  timber-lands  ? 
Rosamund  didn't  mean  to  lie — only  the  titles  were  all 
wrong,  you  know.  .  .  .  And  so  you  made  a  bad  break, 
Jack;  is  that  it?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  it." 

"  And  it  cost  you  a  fortune,  and  me  a — husband. 
Is  that  it,  my  friend?  " 

"  I  can  afford  you  if  you  will  stop  your  meddling," 
he  said  coolly. 

"  I  see ;  I  am  to  stop  my  meddling  and  you  are  to 
continue  your  downtown  gambling  in  your  own  house 
in  the  evenings." 

"  Precisely.  It  happens  that  I  am  sufficiently  fa 
miliar  with  the  stock-market  to  make  a  decent  living 
out  of  the  Exchange;  and  it  also  happens  that  I  am 
sufficiently  fortunate  with  cards  to  make  the  pleasure 
of  playing  fairly  remunerative.  Any  man  who  can  put 
up  proper  margin  has  a  right  to  my  services ;  any  man 
whom  I  invite  and  who  can  take  up  his  notes,  has  a 
right  to  play  under  my  roof.  If  his  note  goes  to  pro 
test,  he  forfeits  that  right.  Now  will  you  kindly  ex- 

192 


AFTERGLOW 


plain  to  yourself  exactly  how  this  matter  can  be  of 
any  interest  to  you?  " 

"  I  have  explained  it,"  she  said  wearily.  "  Will 
you  please  go,  now?  " 

He  sat  a  moment,  then  rose: 

"  You  make  a  point  of  excluding  Gerald?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  telephone  Dray  more.  And  " — he 
looked  back  from  the  door  of  his  own  apartments — 
"  I  got  Julius  Neergard  on  the  wire  this  afternoon 
and  he'll  dine  with  us." 

He  gathered  up  his  shimmering  kimona,  hesitated, 
halted,  and  again  looked  back. 

"  When  you're  dressed,"  he  drawled,  "  I've  a  word 
to  say  to  you  about  the  game  to-night,  and  another 
about  Gerald." 

"  I  shall  not  play,"  she  retorted  scornfully,  "  nor 
will  Gerald." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will — and  play  your  best,  too.  And 
I'll  expect  him  next  time." 

"I  shall  not  play!" 

He  said  deliberately :  "  You  will  not  only  play,  but 
play  cleverly;  and  in  the  interim,  while  dressing,  you 
will  reflect  how  much  more  agreeable  it  is  to  play 
cards  here  than  the  fool  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  in  the 
bachelor  apartments  of  your  late  lamented." 

And  he  entered  his  room ;  and  his  wife,  getting 
blindly  to  her  feet,  every  atom  of  colour  gone  from 
lip  and  cheek,  stood  rigid,  both  small  hands  clutching 
the  foot-board  of  the  gilded  bed. 


193 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE    UNEXPECTED 

DIFFERENCES  of  opinion  between  himself  and  Neer- 
gard  concerning  the  ethics  of  good  taste  involved  in 
forcing  the  Siowitha  Club  matter,  Gerald's  decreasing 
attention  to  business  and  increasing  intimacy  with  the 
Fane-Ruthven  coterie,  began  to  make  Selwyn  very  un 
comfortable.  The  boy's  close  relations  with  Neergard 
worried  him  most  of  all;  and  though  Neergard  finally 
agreed  to  drop  the  Siowitha  matter  as  a  fixed  policy  in 
which  Selwyn  had  been  expected  to  participate  at  some 
indefinite  date,  the  arrangement  seemed  only  to  cement 
the  man's  confidential  companionship  with  Gerald. 

This  added  to  Selwyn's  restlessness ;  and  one  day  in 
early  spring  he  had  a  long  conference  with  Gerald — 
a  most  unsatisfactory  one.  Gerald,  for  the  first  time, 
remained  reticent;  and  when  Selwyn,  presuming  on  the 
cordial  understanding  between  them,  pressed  him  a  lit 
tle,  the  boy  turned  sullen ;  and  Selwyn  let  the  matter 
drop  very  quickly. 

But  neither  tact  nor  caution  seemed  to  serve  now; 
Gerald,  more  and  more  engrossed  in  occult  social  affairs 
of  which  he  made  no  mention  to  Selwyn,  was  still  amiable 
and  friendly,  even  at  times  cordial  and  lovable ;  but  he 
was  no  longer  frank  or  even  communicative;  and  Sel 
wyn,  fearing  to  arouse  him  again  to  sullenness  or  per 
haps  even  to  suspicious  defiance,  forbore  to  press  him 

194 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


beyond  the  most  tentative  advances  toward  the  regain 
ing  of  his  confidence. 

This,  very  naturally,  grieved  and  mortified  the  elder 
man ;  but  what  troubled  him  still  more  was  that  Gerald 
and  Neergard  were  becoming  so  amazingly  companion 
able;  for  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  had  in  common  a 
number  of  personal  interests  which  he  did  not  share,  and 
that  their  silence  concerning  these  interests  amounted  to 
a  secrecy  almost  offensive. 

Again  and  again,  coming  unexpectedly  upon  them, 
he  noticed  that  their  confab  ceased  with  his  appearance. 
Often,  too,  glances  of  warning  intelligence  passed  be 
tween  them  in  his  presence,  which,  no  doubt,  they  sup 
posed  were  unnoticed  by  him. 

They  left  the  office  together  frequently,  now;  they 
often  lunched  uptown.  Whether  they  were  in  each 
other's  company  evenings,  Selwyn  did  not  know,  for 
Gerald  no  longer  volunteered  information  as  to  his 
whereabouts  or  doings.  And  all  this  hurt  Selwyn,  and 
alarmed  him,  too,  far  he  was  slowly  coming  to  the  con 
clusion  that  he  did  not  like  Neergard,  that  he  would 
never  sign  articles  of  partnership  with  him,  and  that 
even  his  formal  associateship  with  the  company  was  too 
close  a  relation  for  his  own  peace  of  mind.  But  on  Ger 
ald's  account  he  stayed  on ;  he  did  not  like  to  leave  the 
boy  alone  for  his  sister's  sake  as  well  as  for  his  own. 

Matters  drifted  that  way  through  early  spring.  He 
actually  grew  to  dislike  both  Neergard  and  the  business 
of  Neergard  &  Co. — for  no  one  particular  reason,  per 
haps,  but  in  general ;  though  he  did  not  yet  care  to  ask 
himself  to  be  more  precise  in  his  unuttered  criticisms. 

However,  detail  and  routine,  the  simpler  alphabet  of 
the  business,  continued  to  occupy  him.  He  consulted 
both  Neergard  and  Gerald  as  usual;  they  often  con- 

195 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


suited  him  or  pretended  to  do  so.  Land  was  bought 
and  sold  and  resold,  new  projects  discussed,  new  prop 
erties  appraised,  new  mortgage  loans  negotiated;  and 
solely  because  of  his  desire  to  remain  near  Gerald,  this 
sort  of  thing  might  have  continued  indefinitely.  But 
Neergard  broke  his  word  to  him. 

And  one  morning,  before  he  left  his  rooms  at  Mrs. 
Greeve's  lodgings  to  go  downtown,  Percy  Draymore 
called  him  up  on  the  telephone ;  and  as  that  overfed 
young  man's  usual  rising  hour  was  notoriously  nearer 
noon  than  eight  o'clock,  it  surprised  Selwyn  to  be  asked 
to  remain  in  his  rooms  for  a  little  while  until  Draymore 
and  one  or  two  friends  could  call  on  him  personally 
concerning  a  matter  of  importance. 

He  therefore  breakfasted  leisurely ;  and  he  was  still 
scanning  the  real  estate  columns  of  a  morning  paper 
when  Mrs.  Greeve  came  panting  to  his  door  and  ushered 
in  a  file  of  rather  sleepy  but  important  looking  gentle 
men,  evidently  unaccustomed  to  being  abroad  so  early, 
and  bored  to  death  with  their  experience. 

They  were  men  he  knew  only  formally,  or,  at  best, 
merely  as  fellow  club  members ;  men  whom  he  met  when 
a  dance  or  dinner  took  him  out  of  the  less  pretentious 
sets  he  personally  affected;  men  whom  the  newspapers 
and  the  public  knew  too  well  to  speak  of  as  "  well 
known." 

First  there  was  Percy  Draymore,  overgroomed  for 
a  gentleman,  fat,  good-humoured,  and  fashionable — one 
of  the  famous  Draymore  family  noted  solely  for  their 
money  and  their  tight  grip  on  it;  then  came  Sanxon 
Orchil,  the  famous  banker  and  promoter,  small,  urbane, 
dark,  with  that  rich  almost  oriental  coloring  which  he 
may  have  inherited  from  his  Cordova  ancestors  who 
found  it  necessary  to  dehumanise  their  names  when 

196 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


Rome  offered  them  the  choice  with  immediate  eternity 
as  alternative. 

Then  came  a  fox-faced  young  man,  Phoenix  Mottly, 
elegant  arbiter  of  all  pertaining  to  polo  and  the  hunt — 
slim-legged,  hatchet-faced — and  more  presentable  in 
the  saddle  than  out  of  it.  He  was  followed  by  Bradley 
Harmon,  with  his  washed-out  colouring  of  a  consump 
tive  Swede  and  his  corn-coloured  beard;  and,  looming 
in  the  rear  like  an  amiable  brontasaurus,  George  Fane, 
whose  swaying  neck  carried  his  head  as  a  camel  carries 
his,  nodding  as  he  walks. 

"  Well !  "  said  Selwyn,  perplexed  but  cordial  as  he 
exchanged  amenities  with  each  gentleman  who  entered, 
"  this  is  a  killing  combination  of  pleasure  and  mortifi 
cation — because  I  haven't  any  more  breakfast  to  offer 
you  unless  you'll  wait  until  I  ring  for  the  Sultana " 

"  Breakfast !  Oh,  damn !  I've  breakfasted  on  a  pill 
and  a  glass  of  vichy  for  ten  years,"  protested  Dray- 
more,  "  and  the  others  either  have  swallowed  their  cock 
tails,  or  won't  do  it  until  luncheon.  I  say,  Selwyn,  you 
must  think  this  a  devilishly  unusual  proceeding." 

"  Pleasantly  unusual,  Draymore.  Is  this  a  delega 
tion  to  tend  me  the  nomination  for  the  down-and-out 
club,  perhaps  ?  " 

Fane  spoke  up  languidly :  "  It  rather  looks  as 
though  we  were  the  down-and-out  delegation  at  pres 
ent;  doesn't  it,  Orchil?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Orchil ;  "  it  seems  a  trifle  more 
promising  to  me  since  I've  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Captain  Selwyn  face  to  face.  Go  on,  Percy;  let  the 
horrid  facts  be  known." 

"Well— er — oh,  hang  it  all!"  blurted  out  Dray- 
more,  "  we  heard  last  night  how  that  fellow — how  Neer- 
gard  has  been  tampering  with  our  farmers — what  un- 

197 


THE   YOUNGER   SET 


derhand  tricks  he  has  been  playing  us ;  and  I  frankly 
admit  to  you  that  we're  a  worried  lot  of  near-sports. 
That's  what  this  dismal  matinee  signifies;  and  we've 
come  to  ask  you  what  it  all  really  means." 

"  We  lost  no  time,  you  see,"  added  Orchil,  caressing 
the  long  pomaded  ends  of  his  kinky  moustache  and  try 
ing  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them  out  of  his  languid  orien 
tal  eyes.  He  had  been  trying  to  catch  this  glimpse  for 
thirty  years ;  he  was  a  persistent  man  with  plenty  of 
leisure. 

"  We  lost  no  time,"  repeated  Draymore,  "  because 
it's  a  devilish  unsavoury  situation  for  us.  The  Sio- 
witha  Club  fully  realises  it,  Captain  Selwyn,  and  its 
members — some  of  'em — thought  that  perhaps — er — 
you — ah — being  the  sort  of  man  who  can — ah — under 
stand  the  sort  of  language  we  understand,  it  might  not 
be  amiss  to — to " 

"Why  did  you  not  call  on  Mr.  Neergard?  "  asked 
Selwyn  coolly.  Yet  he  was  taken  completely  by  sur 
prise,  for  he  did  not  know  that  Neergard  had  gone  ahead 
and  secured  options  on  his  own  responsibility — which 
practically  amounted  to  a  violation  of  the  truce  between 
them. 

Draymore  hesitated,  then  with  the  brutality  charac 
teristic  of  the  overfed :  "  I  don't  give  a  damn,  Captain 
Selwyn,  what  Neergard  thinks ;  but  I  do  want  to  know 
what  a  gentleman  like  yourself,  accidentally  associ 
ated  with  that  man,  thinks  of  this  questionable  pro 
ceeding." 

"  Do  you  mean  by  '  questionable  proceeding '  your 
coming  here? — or  do  you  refer  to  the  firm's  position 
in  this  matter  ?  "  asked  Selwyn  sharply.  "  Because, 
Draymore,  I  am  not  very  widely  experienced  in  the  cus 
toms  and  usages  of  commercial  life,  and  I  do  not  know 

198 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


whether  it  is  usual  for  an  associate  member  of  a  firm 
to  express,  unauthorised,  his  views  on  matters  concern 
ing  the  firm  to  any  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  who  ques 
tions  him." 

"  But  you  know  what  is  the  policy  of  your  own 
firm,"  suggested  Harmon,  wincing,  and  displaying  his 
teeth  under  his  bright  red  lips ;  "  and  all  we  wish  to 
know  is,  what  Xeergard  expects  us  to  pay  for  this  ras 
cally  lesson  in  the  a-b-c  of  Long  Island  realty." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Selwyn,  bitterly  annoyed, 
"  what  Mr.  Xeergard  proposes  to  do.  And  if  I  did  I 
should  refer  you  to  him." 

"  May  I  ask,"  began  Orchil,  "  whether  the  land  wiU 
be  ultimately  for  sale?  " 

"  Oh,  everything's  always  for  sale,"  broke  in  Mottly 
impatiently ;  "  what's  the  use  of  asking  that  ?  What 
you  meant  to  inquire  was  the  price  we're  expected  to 
pay  for  this  masterly  squeeze  in  realty." 

"  And  to  that,"  replied  Selwyn  more  sharply  still, 
"  I  must  answer  again  that  I  don't  know.  I  know  noth 
ing  about  it;  I  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Neergard  had 
acquired  control  of  the  property ;  I  don't  know  what  he 
means  to  do  with  it.  And,  gentlemen/  may  I  ask  why 
you  feel  at  liberty  to  come  to  me  instead  of  to  Mr.  Neer 
gard?" 

"  A  desire  to  deal  with  one  of  our  own  kind,  I  sup 
pose,"  returned  Draymore  bluntly.  '•*  And,  for  that 
matter,"  he  said.,  turning  to  the  others,  "  we  might  have 
known  that  Captain  Selwyn  could  have  had  no  hand  in 
and  no  knowledge  of  such  an  underbred  and  dirty " 

Harmon  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve,  but  Draymore 
shook  him  off,  his  little  piggish  eyes  sparkling. 

"  What  do  I  care ! "  he  sneered,  losing  his  temper ; 
"  we're  in  the  clutches  of  a  vulgar,  skinflint  Dutchman, 
14  199 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  he'll  wring  us  dry  whether  or  not  we  curse  him  out. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  that  Philip  Selwyn  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it?  If  he  had,  and  I  was  wrong,  our  journey  here 
might  as  well  have  been  made  to  Neergard's  office.  For 
any  man  who  will  do  such  a  filthy  thing " 

"  One  moment,  Draymore,"  cut  in  Selwyn ;  and  his 
voice  rang  unpleasantly ;  "  if  you  are  simply  complain 
ing  because  you  have  been  outwitted,  go  ahead ;  but  if 
you  think  there  has  been  any  really  dirty  business  in 
this  matter,  go  to  Mr.  Neergard.  Otherwise,  being  his 
associate,  I  shall  not  only  decline  to  listen  but  also  ask 
you  to  leave  my  apartment 

"  Captain  Selwyn  is  ^fefectly  right,"  observed 
Orchil  coolly.  "  Do  you  tMnk,  Draymore,  that  it  is 
very  good  taste  in  you  to'fcpme  into  a  man's  place  and 
begin  slanging  and  cursing  a  member  of  his  firm  for 
crooked  work?  " 

"Besides,"  added  M&tly,  "it's  not  crooked;  it's 
only  contemptibler^^LnywW,  we  know  with  whom  we 
have  to  deal,  now^utNjsome  of  you  fellows  must  do  the 
dealing — I'd  ratherrt*y  and  keep  away  than  ask  Neer 
gard  to  go  easy-V-anoJ  have  him  do  it." 

"  I  don't  kn«W,"  /  said  Fane,  grinning  his  saurian 
grin,  "  whjir  ypu^f  assume  that  Neergard  is  such  a 
social  outcast.  0NJ  played  cards  with  him  last  week  and 
he  lost  like  a 

"  I  didn'tj  s\j/  he  was  a  social  outcast,"  retorted 
Mottly — "  because  he's  never  been  inside  of  anything  to 
be  cast  out,  you  know." 

"  He  seems  to  be  inside  this  deal,"  ventured  Orchil 
with  his  suave  smile.  And  to  Selwyn,  who  had  been 
restlessly  facing  first  one,  then  another :  "  We  came — 
it  was  the  idea  of  several  among  us — to  put  the  matter 
up  to  you.  Which  was  rather  foolish,  because  you 

200 


THE   UNEXPECTED 


couldn't  have  engineered  the  thing  and  remained  what 
we  know  you  to  be.  So " 

"  Wait !  "  said  Selwyn  brusquely ;  "  I  do  not  admit 
for  one  moment  that  there  is  anything  dishonourable  in 
this  deal! — nor  do  I  accept  your  right  to  question  it 
from  that  standpoint.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is  one 
of  those  operations  which  is  considered  clever  among 
business  folk,  and  which  is  admired  and  laughed  over  in 
reputable  business  circles.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that 
hundreds  of  well-meaning  business  men  do  that  sort  of 
thing  daily — yes,  thousands  !  "  He  shrugged  his  broad 
shoulders.  "  Because  I  personally  have  not  chosen  to 
engage  in  matters  of  this — ah — description,  is  no  rea 
son  for  condemning  the  deal  or  its  method " 

"  Every  reason  !  "  said  Orchil,  laughing  cordially — 
"  every  reason,  Captain  Selwyn.  Thank  you ;  we  know 
now  exactly  where  we  stand.  It  was  very  good  of  you 
to  let  us  come,  and  I'm  sorry  some  of  us  had  the  bad 
taste  to  show  any  temper " 

"  He  means  me,"  added  Draymore,  offering  his 
hand ;  "  good-bye,  Captain  Selwyn ;  I  dare  say  we  are  up 
against  it  hard." 

"  Because  we've  got  to  buy  in  that  property  or 
close  up  the  Siowitha,"  added  Mottly,  coming  over  to 
make  his  adieux.  "  By  the  way,  Selwyn,  you  ought  to 
be  one  of  us  in  the  Siowitha " 

"  Thank  you,  but  isn't  this  rather  an  awkward  time 
to  suggest  it?  "  said  Selwyn  good-humouredly. 

Fane  burst  into  a  sonorous  laugh  and  wagged  his 
neck,  saying :  "  Not  at  all !  Not  at  all !  Your  reward 
for  having  the  decency  to  stay  out  of  the  deal  is  an  in 
vitation  from  us  to  come  in  and  be  squeezed  into  a  jelly 
by  Mr.  Neergard.  Haw!  Haw!" 

And  so,  one  by  one,  with  formal  or  informal  but  evi- 
201 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


dently  friendly  leave-taking,  they  went  away.  And  Sel- 
wyn  followed  them  presently,  walking  until  he  took  the 
Subway  at  Forty-second  Street  for  his  office. 

As  he  entered  the  elaborate  suite  of  rooms  he  noticed 
some  bright  new  placards  dangling  from  the  walls  of 
the  general  office,  and  halted  to  read  them : 

"WHY  PAY  RENT! 

What  would  you  say  if  we  built  a  house  for  you  in 
Beautiful  Siowitha  Park  and  gave  you  ten  years  to  pay 
for  it ! 

If  anybody  says 

YOU  ARE  A  FOOL! 

to  expect  this,  refer  him  to  us  and  we  will  answer  him 
according  to  his  folly. 

TO   PAY  RENT 

when  you  might  own  a  home  in  Beautiful  Siowitha 
Park,  is  not  wise.  We  expect  to  furnish  plans,  or  build 
after  your  own  plans. 

All  City  Improvements 

Are  Contemplated! 

Map  and  PJans  of 
Beautiful  Siowitha  Park 
Will  probably  be  ready 

In  the  Near  Future. 

Julius  Neergard  &  Co. 
Long  Island  Real  Estate." 

Selwyn  reddened  with  anger  and  beckoned  to  a 
clerk : 

202 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


"  Is  Mr.  Neergard  in  his  office?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  with  Mr.  Erroll." 

"  Please  say  that  I  wish  to  see  him." 

He  went  into  his  own  office,  pocketed  his  mail,  and 
still  wearing  hat  and  gloves  came  out  again  just  as 
Gerald  was  leaving  Neergard's  office. 

"  Hello,  Gerald !  "  he  said  pleasantly ;  "  have  you 
anything  on  for  to-night?  " 

"  Y-es,"  said  the  boy,  embarrassed — "  but  if  there 
is  anything  I  can  do  for  you " 

"  Not  unless  you  are  free  for  the  evening,"  returned 
the  other;  "are  you?" 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry " 

"  Oh,  all  right.  Let  me  know  when  you  expect  to 
be  free — telephone  me  at  my  rooms " 

"  I'll  let  you  know  when  I  see  you  here  to-morrow," 
said  the  boy ;  but  Selwyn  shook  his  head :  "  I'm  not  com 
ing  here  to-morrow,  Gerald  " ;  and  he  walked  leisurely 
into  Neergard's  office  and  seated  himself. 

"  So  you  have  committed  the  firm  to  the  Siowitha 
deal  ?  "  he  inquired  coolly. 

Neergard  looked  up — and  then  past  him :  "  No,  not 
the  firm.  You  did  not  seem  to  be  interested  in  the 
scheme,  so  I  went  on  without  you.  I'm  swinging  it  for 
my  personal  account." 

"Is  Mr.  Erroll  in  it?" 

"  I  said  that  it  was  a  private  matter,"  replied  Neer 
gard,  but  his  manner  was  affable. 

"  I  thought  so ;  it  appears  to  me  like  a  matter  quite 
personal  to  you  and  characteristic  of  you,  Mr.  Neer 
gard.  And  that  being  established,  I  am  now  ready 
to  dissolve  whatever  very  loose  ties  have  ever  bound 
me  in  any  association  with  this  company  and  your 
self." 

203 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Neergard's  close-set  black  eyes  shifted  a  point  nearer 
to  Selwyn's ;  the  sweat  on  his  nose  glistened. 

"Why  do  you  do  this?"  he  asked  slowly.  "Has 
anybody  offended  you?  " 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  certainly  do,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  Very  well ;  it's  because  I  don't  like  your  business 
methods,  I  don't  like — several  other  things  that  are 
happening  in  this  office.  It's  purely  a  difference  of 
views ;  and  that  is  enough  explanation,  Mr.  Neergard." 

"  I  think  our  views  may  very  easily  coincide " 

"  You  are  wrong ;  they  could  not.  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  when  I  came  back  here.  And  now  I  have 
only  to  thank  you  for  receiving  me,  at  my  own  request, 
for  a  six  months'  trial,  and  to  admit  that  I  am  not  quali 
fied  to  co-operate  with  this  kind  of  a  firm." 

"  That,"  said  Neergard  angrily,  "  amounts  to  an 
indictment  of  the  firm.  If  you  express  yourself  in  that 
manner  outside,  the  firm  will  certainly  resent  it !  " 

"  My  personal  taste  will  continue  to  govern  my  ex 
pressions,  Mr.  Neergard ;  and  I  believe  will  prevent  any 
further  business  relations  between  us.  And,  as  we  never 
had  any  other  kind  of  relations,  I  have  merely  to  ar 
range  the  details  through  an  attorney." 

Neergard  looked  after  him  in  silence ;  the  tiny  beads 
of  sweat  on  his  nose  united  and  rolled  down  in  a  big 
shining  drop,  and  the  sneer  etched  on  his  broad  and 
brightly  mottled  features  deepened  to  a  snarl  when  Sel 
wyn  had  disappeared. 

For  the  social  prestige  which  Selwyn's  name  had 
brought  the  firm,  he  had  patiently  endured  his  personal 
dislike  and  contempt  for  the  man  after  he  found  he 
could  do  nothing  with  him  in  any  way. 

He  had  accepted  Selwyn  purely  in  the  hope  of  social 
204 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


advantage,  and  with  the  knowledge  that  Selwyn  could 
have  done  much  for  him  after  business  hours ;  if  not 
from  friendship,  at  least  from  interest,  or  a  lively  sense 
of  benefits  to  come.  For  that  reason  he  had  invited  him 
to  participate  in  the  valuable  Siowitha  deal,  supposing 
a  man  as  comparatively  poor  as  Selwyn  would  not  only 
jump  at  the  opportunity,  but  also  prove  sufficiently 
grateful  later.  And  he  had  been  amazed  and  disgusted 
at  Selwyn's  attitude.  But  he  had  not  supposed  the  man 
would  sever  his  connection  with  the  firm  if  he,  Neergard, 
went  ahead  on  his  own  responsibility.  It  astonished 
and  irritated  him ;  it  meant,  instead  of  selfish  or  snob 
bish  indifference  to  his  own  social  ambitions,  an  enemy 
to  block  his  entrance  into  what  he  desired — the  society 
of  those  made  notorious  in  the  columns  of  the  daily 
press. 

For  Neergard  cared  only  for  the  notorious  in  the 
social  scheme;  nothing  else  appealed  to  him.  He  had, 
all  his  life,  read  with  avidity  of  the  extravagances,  the 
ostentation,  the  luxurious  effrontery,  the  thinly  veiled 
viciousness  of  what  he  believed  to  be  society,  and  he 
craved  it  from  the  first,  working  his  thick  hands  to  the 
bone  in  dogged  determination  to  one  day  participate 
in  and  satiate  himself  with  the  easy  morality  of  what  he 
read  about  in  his  penny  morning  paper — in  the  days 
when  even  a  penny  was  to  be  carefully  considered. 

That  was  what  he  wanted  from  society — the  best  to 
be  had  in  vice.  That  was  why  he  had  denied  himself  in 
better  days.  It  was  for  that  he  hoarded  every  cent  while 
actual  want  sharpened  his  wits  and  his  thin  nose ;  it  was 
in  that  hope  that  he  received  Selwyn  so  cordially  as  a 
possible  means  of  entrance  into  regions  he  could  not 
attain  unaided ;  it  was  for  that  reason  he  was  now  bind 
ing  Gerald  to  him  through  remission  of  penalties  for 

205 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


slackness,  through  loans  and  advances,  through  a  com 
panionship  which  had  already  landed  him  in  the  Ruth- 
ven's  card-room,  and  promised  even  more  from  Mr. 
Fane,  who  had  won  his  money  very  easily. 

For  Neergard  did  not  care  how  he  got  in,  front  door 
or  back  door,  through  kitchen  or  card-room,  as  long  as 
he  got  in  somehow.  All  he  desired  was  the  chance  to  use 
opportunity  in  his  own  fashion,  and  wring  from  the 
forbidden  circle  all  and  more  than  they  had  uncon 
sciously  wrung  from  him  in  the  squalid  days  of  a  pov 
erty  for  which  no  equality  he  might  now  enjoy,  no  lib 
erty  of  license,  no  fraternity  in  dissipation,  could  wholly 
compensate. 

He  was  fairly  on  the  outer  boundary  now,  though 
still  very  far  outside.  But  a  needy  gentleman  inside 
was  already  compromised  and  practically  pledged  to 
support  him;  for  his  meeting  with  Jack  Ruthven 
through  Gerald  had  proven  of  greatest  importance. 
He  had  lost  gracefully  to  Ruthven ;  and  in  doing  it  had 
taken  that  gentleman's  measure.  And  though  Ruthven 
himself  was  a  member  of  the  Siowitha,  Neergard  had 
made  no  error  in  taking  him  secretly  into  the  deal  where 
together  they  were  now  in  a  position  to  exploit  the  club, 
from  which  Ruthven,  of  course,  would  resign  in  time  to 
escape  any  assessment  himself. 

Neergard's  progress  had  now  reached  this  stage; 
Ms  programme  was  simple  —  to  wallow  among  the 
wealthy  until  satiated,  then  to  marry  into  that  agree 
able  community  and  found  the  house  of  Neergard.  And 
to  that  end  he  had  already  bought  a  building  site  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  but  held  it  in  the  name  of  the  firm  as 
though  it  had  been  acquired  for  purposes  purely  specu 
lative. 


206 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


About  that  time  Boots  Lansing  very  quietly  bought 
a  house  on  Manhattan  Island.  It  was  a  small,  narrow, 
three-storied  house  of  brick,  rather  shabby  on  the  out 
side,  and  situated  on  a  modest  block  between  Lexington 
and  Park  avenues,  where  the  newly  married  of  the 
younger  set  were  arriving  in  increasing  numbers,  pre 
pared  to  pay  the  penalty  for  all  love  matches. 

It  was  an  unexpected  move  to  Selwyn ;  he  had  not 
been  aware  of  Lansing's  contemplated  desertion ;  and 
that  morning,  returning  from  his  final  interview  with 
Neergard,  he  was  astonished  to  find  his  comrade's  room 
bare  of  furniture,  and  a  hasty  and  exclamatory  note  on 
his  own  table: 

"  Phil !  I've  bought  a  house !  Come  and  see  it ! 
You'll  find  me  in  it!  Carpetless  floors  and  unpapered 
walls  !  It's  the  happiest  day  of  my  life ! 

"  Boots !  !  !  !     House-owner !  !  !  " 

And  Selwyn,  horribly  depressed,  went  down  after  a 
solitary  luncheon  and  found  Lansing  sitting  on  a  pile 
of  dusty  rugs,  ecstatically  inspecting  the  cracked 
ceiling. 

"  So  this  is  the  House  that  Boots  built !  "  he  said. 

"Phil!    It's  a  dream!" 

"  Yes — a  bad  one.  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by 
clearing  out?  What  do  you  want  with  a  house,  any 
how  ? — you  infernal  idiot !  " 

"A  house?  Man,  I've  always  wanted  one!  I've 
dreamed  of  a  dinky  little  house  like  this — dreamed  and 
ached  for  it  there  in  Manila — on  blistering  hikes,  on 
wibbly-wabbly  gunboats — knee-deep  in  sprouting  rice 
— I've  dreamed  of  a  house  in  New  York  like  this !  slop 
ping  through  the  steaming  paddy-fields,  sweating  up 
the  heights,  floundering  through  smelly  hemp,  squat- 

207 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


ting  by  green  fires  at  night!  always,  always  I've 
longed  for  a  home  of  my  own.  Now  I've  got  it,  and  I'm 
the  happiest  man  on  Manhattan  Island !  " 

"  O  Lord !  "  said  Selwyn,  staring,  "  if  you  feel  that 
way !  You  never  said  anything  about  it " 

"  Neither  did  you,  Phil ;  but  I  bet  you  want  one,  too. 
Come  now;  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  nodded  Selwyn ;  "  but  I  can't  afford 
one  yet  " — his  face  darkened — "  not  for  a  while ;  but," 
and  his  features  cleared,  "  I'm  delighted,  old  fellow,  that 
you  have  one.  This  certainly  is  a  jolly  little  kennel — 
you  can  fix  it  up  in  splendid  shape— rugs  and  mahog 
any  and  what-nots  and  ding-dongs — and  a  couple  of 
tabby  cats  and  a  good  dog " 

"Isn't  it  fascinating!"  cried  Boots.  "Phil,  all 
this  real  estate  is  mine!  And  the  idea  makes  me  silly- 
headed.  I've  been  sitting  on  this  pile  of  rugs  pretend 
ing  that  I'm  in  the  midst  of  vast  and  expensive  improve 
ments  and  alterations ;  and  estimating  the  cost  of  them 
has  frightened  me  half  to  death.  I  tell  you  I  never  had 
such  fun,  Phil.  Come  on;  we'll  start  at  the  cellar — 
there  is  some  coal  and  wood  and  some  wonderful  cob 
webs  down  there — and  then  we'll  take  in  the  back  yard ; 
I  mean  to  have  no  end  of  a  garden  out  there,  and  real 
clothes-dryers  and  some  wistaria  and  sparrows — just 
like  real  back  yards.  I  want  to  hear  cats  make  harrow 
ing  music  on  my  own  back  fence ;  I  want  to  see  a  tidy 
laundress  pinning  up  intimate  and  indescribable  gar 
ments  on  my  own  clothes-lines ;  I  want  to  have  mad 
dening  trouble  with  plumbers  and  roofers;  I  want 

"  Come  on,  then,  for  Heaven's  sake !  "  said  Selwyn, 
laughing ;  and  the  two  men,  arm  in  arm,  began  a  minute 
tour  of  the  house. 

£08 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


"  Isn't  it  a  corker  !  Isn't  it  fine  !  "  repeated  Lansing 
every  few  minutes.  "  I  wouldn't  exchange  it  for  any 
mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue !  " 

"  You'd  be  a  fool  to,"  agreed  Selwyn  gravely. 

"  Certainly  I  would.  Anyway,  prices  are  going  up 
like  rockets  in  this  section — not  that  I'd  think  of  sell 
ing  out  at  any  price — but  it's  comfortable  to  know  it. 
Why,  a  real-estate  man  told  me —  Hello !  What  was 
that  ?  Something  fell  somewhere !  " 

"  A  section  of  the  bath-room  ceiling,  I  think,"  said 
Selwyn ;  "  we  mustn't  step  too  heavily  on  the  floors  at 
first,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  have  the  entire  thing  done  over 
— room  by  room — when  I  can  afford  it.  Meanwhile  j'y 
suisy  j'y  reste.  .  .  .  Look  there,  Phil!  That's  to  be 


vour  room." 


"  Thanks,  old  fellow — not  now." 

"  Why,  yes  !  I  expected  you'd  have  your  room  here, 
Phil " 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,  Boots,  but  I  can't  do  it." 

Lansing  faced  him:  "  Won't  you?" 

Selwyn,  smiling,  shook  his  head;  and  the  other 
knew  it  was  final. 

"  Well,  the  room  will  be  there — furnished  the  way 
you  and  I  like  it.  When  you  want  it,  make  smoke 
signals  or  wig-wag." 

"  I  will ;  thank  you,  Boots." 

Lansing  said  unaffectedly,  "  How  soon  do  you 
think  you  can  afford  a  house  like  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  see,  I've  only  my  income 
now- 

"  Plus  what  you  make  at  the  office " 

"  I've  left  Neergard." 

"What!" 

209 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  This  morning ;  for  good." 

"  The  deuc£ !  "  he  murmured,  looking  at  Selwyn ; 
but  the  latter  volunteered  no  further  information,  and 
Lansing,  having  given  him  the  chance,  cheerfully 
switched  to  the  other  track: 

"  Shall  I  see  whether  the  Air  Line  has  anything 
in  your  line,  Phil?  No?  Well,  what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  what  I  shall  do.  ...  If  I 
had  capital — enough — I  think  I'd  start  in  making 
bulk  and  dense  powders — all  sorts ;  gun-cotton,  nitro- 
powders " 

"  You  mean  you'd  like  to  go  on  with  your  own 
invention — Chaosite  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  keep  on  experimenting  with  it  if  I 
could  afford  to.  Perhaps  I  will.  But  it's  not  yet 
a  commercial  possibility — if  it  ever  is  to  be.  I  wish 
I  could  control  it;  the  ignition  is  simultaneous  and 
absolutely  complete,  and  there  is  not  a  trace  of  ash, 
not  an  unburned  or  partly  burned  particle.  But  it's 
not  to  be  trusted,  and  I  don't  know  what  happens  to 
it  after  a  year's  storage." 

For  a  while  they  discussed  the  commercial  pos 
sibilities  of  Chaosite,  and  how  capital  might  be  raised 
for  a  stock  company;  but  Selwyn  was  not  sanguine, 
and  something  of  his  mental  depression  returned  as 
he  sat  there  by  the  curtainless  window,  his  head  on 
his  closed  hand,  looking  out  into  the  sunny  street. 

"  Anyway,"  said  Lansing,  "  you've  nothing  to 
worry  over." 

"  No,  nothing,"  assented  Selwyn  listlessly. 

After  a  silence  Lansing  added :  "  But  you  do  a 
lot  of  worrying  all  the  same,  Phil." 

Selwyn  flushed  up  and  denied  it. 
210 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


"  Yes,  you  do !  I  don't  believe  you  realise  how- 
much  of  the  time  you  are  out  of  spirits." 

"  Does  it  impress  you  that  way  ?  "  asked  Selwyn, 
mortified ;  "  because  I'm  really  all  right." 

"  Of  course  you  are,  Phil ;  I  know  it,  but  you 
don't  seem  to  realise  it.  You're  morbid,  I'm  afraid." 

"  You've   been   talking   to   my   sister !  " 

"  What  of  it?  Besides,  I  knew  there  was  something 
the  matter " 

"  You  know  what  it  is,  too.  And  isn't  it  enough 
to  subdue  a  man's  spirits  occasionally?" 

"  No,"  said  Lansing — "  if  you  mean  your — mis 
take — two  years  ago.  That  isn't  enough  to  spoil  life 
for  a  man.  I've  wanted  to  tell  you  so  for  a  long 
time." 

And,  as  Selwyn  said  nothing :  "  For  Heaven's  sake 
make  up  your  mind  to  enjoy  your  life!  You  are  fitted 
to  enjoy  it.  Get  that  absurd  notion  out  of  your  head 
that  you're  done  for — that  you've  no  home  life  in 

•/  */ 

prospect,  no  family  life,  no  children " 

Selwyn  turned  sharply,  but  the  other  went  on: 
"  You  can  swear  at  me  if  you  like,  but  you've  no 
business  to  go  through  the  world  cuddling  your  own 
troubles  closer  and  closer  and  squinting  at  everybody 
out  of  disenchanted  eyes.  It's  selfish,  for  one  thing; 
you're  thinking  altogether  too  much  about  yourself." 
Selwyn,  too  annoyed  to  answer,  glared  at  his 
friend. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  don't  like  it,  Phil,  but  what 
I'm  saying  may  do  you  good.  It's  fine  physic,  to 
learn  what  others  think  about  you;  as  for  me,  you 
can't  mistake  my  friendship — or  your  sister's — or 
Miss  Err  oil's,  or  Mr.  Gerard's.  And  one  and  all  are 
of  one  opinion,  that  you  have  everything  before  you, 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


including  domestic  happiness,  which  you  care  for  more 
than  anything.  And  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
not  have  it — no  reason  why  you  should  not  feel  per 
fectly  free  to  marry,  and  have  a  bunch  of  corking 
kids.  It's  nqt  only  your  right,  it's  your  business; 
and  you're  selfish  if  you  don't ! " 

"Boots!     I— I " 

"Go  on!" 

"  I'm  no£  going  to  swear ;  I'm  only  hurt, 
Boots " 

"  Sure  you  are !  Medicine's  working,  that's  all. 
We  strive  to  please,  we  kill  to  cure.  Of  course  it 
hurts,  man!  But  you  know  it  will  do  you  good; 
you  know  what  I  say  is  true.  You've  no  right  to 
club  the  natural  and  healthy  inclinations  out  of  your 
self.  The  day  for  fanatics  and  dippy,  dotty  flagel 
lants  is  past.  Fox's  martyrs  are  out  of  date.  The 
man  who  grabs  life  in  both  fists  and  twists  the  es 
sence  out  of  it,  counts.  He  is  living  as  he  ought 
to,  he  is  doing  the  square  thing  by  his  country  and 
his  community — by  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in 
it !  He's  giving  everybody,  including  himself,  a  square 
deal.  But  the  man  who  has  been  upper-cut  and  floored, 
and  who  takes  the  count,  and  then  goes  and  squats 
in  a  corner  to  brood  over  the  fancy  licks  that  Fate 
handed  him — he  isn't  dealing  fairly  and  squarely  by 
his  principles  or  by  a  decent  and  generous  world  that 
stands  to  back  him  for  the  next  round.  Is  he,  Phil?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Boots,  that  you  think  a 
man  who  has  made  the  ghastly  mess  of  his  life  that 
I  have,  ought  to  feel  free  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Think  it !  Man,  I  know  it.  Certainly  you  ought 
to  marry  if  you  wish — but,  above  all,  you  ought  to 
feel  free  to  marry.  That  is  the  essential  equipment 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


of  a  man;  he  isn't  a  man  if  he  feels  that  he  isn't 
free  to  marry.  He  may  not  want  to  do  it,  he  may 
not  be  in  love.  That's  neither  here  nor  there;  the 
main  thing  is  that  he  is  as  free  as  a  man  should 
be  to  take  any  good  opportunity — and  marriage  is 
included  in  the  list  of  good  opportunities.  If  you 
become  a  slave  to  morbid  notions,  no  wonder  you  are 
depressed.  Slaves  usually  are.  Do  you  want  to  slink 
through  life?  Then  shake  yourself,  I  tell  you;  learn 
to  understand  that  you're  free  to  do  what  any  decent 
man  may  do.  That  will  take  the  morbidness  out  of 
you.  That  will  colour  life  for  you.  I  don't  say  go 
hunting  for  some  one  to  love ;  I  do  say,  don't  avoid 
her  when  you  meet  her." 

"  You  preach  a  very  gay  sermon,  Boots,"  he  said, 
folding  his  arms.  "  I've  heard  something  similar 
from  my  sister.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  think  you  are 
partly  right,  too;  but  if  the  inclination  for  the  free 
dom  you  insist  I  take  is  wanting,  then  what?  I  don't 
wish  to  marry,  Boots ;  I  am  not  in  love,  therefore  the 
prospect  of  home  and  kids  is  premature  and  vague, 
isn't  it?" 

"  As  long  as  it's  a  prospect  or  a  possibility  I  don't 
care  how  vague  it  is,"  said  the  other  cordially.  "  Will 
you  admit  it's  a  possibility?  That's  all  I  ask." 

"  If  it  will  please  you,  yes,  I  will  admit  it.  I 
have  altered  certain  ideas,  Boots;  I  cannot,  just  now, 
conceive  of  any  circumstances  under  which  I  should 
feel  justified  in  marrying,  but  such  circumstances 
might  arise ;  I'll  say  that  much." 

Yet  until  that  moment  he  had  not  dreamed  of  ad 
mitting  as  much  to  anybody,  even  to  himself;  but 
Lansing's  logic,  his  own  loneliness,  his  disappoint 
ment  in  Gerald,  had  combined  to  make  him  doubt  his 

213 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


own  methods  of  procedure.  Too,  the  interview  with 
Alixe  Ruthven  had  not  only  knocked  all  complacency 
and  conceit  out  of  him,  but  had  made  him  so  self- 
distrustful  that  he  was  in  a  mood  to  listen  respect 
fully  to  his  peers  on  any  question. 

He  was  wondering  now  whether  Boots  had  recog 
nised  Alixe  when  he  had  blundered  into  the  room  that 
night.  He  had  never  asked  the  question ;  he  was  very 
much  inclined  to,  now.  However,  Boots's  reply  could 
be  only  the  negative  answer  that  any  decent  man  must 
give. 

Sitting  there  in  the  carpetless  room  piled  high 
with  dusty,  linen-shrouded  furniture,  he  looked  around, 
an  involuntary  smile  twitching  his  mouth.  Somehow 
he  had  not  felt  so  light-hearted  for  a  long,  long  while 
— and  whether  it  came  from  his  comrade's  sermon,  or 
his  own  unexpected  acknowledgment  of  its  truth,  or 
whether  it  was  pure  amusement  at  Boots  in  the  role 
of  householder  and  taxpayer,  he  could  not  decide.  But 
he  was  curiously  happy  of  a  sudden;  and  he  smiled 
broadly  upon  Mr.  Lansing: 

"  What  about  your  marrying,"  he  said — "  after 
all  this  talk  about  mine!  What  about  it,  Boots?  Is 
this  new  house  the  first  modest  step  toward  the  matri 
mony  you  laud  so  loudly  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  that  gentleman  airily ;  "  that's  what 
I'm  here  for." 

"Really?" 

"  Well,  of  course,  idiot.     I've  always  been  in  love." 

"  You  mean  you  actually  have  somebody  in 
view ?" 

"  No,  son.  I've  always  been  in  love  with — love. 
I'm  a  sentimental  sentry  on  the  ramparts  of  reason. 
I'm  properly  armed  for  trouble,  now,  so  if  I'm  chal- 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


lenged  I  won't  let  my  chance  slip  by  me.  Do  you 
see?  There  are  two  kinds  of  sentimental  warriors 
in  this  amorous  world:  the  man  and  the  nincompoop. 
The  one  brings  in  his  prisoner,  the  other  merely  howls 
for  her.  So  I'm  all  ready  for  the  only  girl  in  the 
world;  and  if  she  ever  gets  away  from  me  I'll  give 
you  my  house,  cellar,  and  back  yard,  including  the 
wistaria  and  both  cats " 

"  You  have  neither  wistaria  nor  cats — yet." 

"  Neither  am  I  specifically  in  love — yet.  So  that's 
all  right — Philip.  Come  on ;  let's  take  another  look 
at  that  fascinating  cellar  of  mine !  " 

But  Selwyn  laughingly  declined,  and  after  a  little 
while  he  went  away,  first  to  look  up  a  book  which  he 
was  having  bound  for  Eileen,  then  to  call  on  his  sis 
ter  who,  with  Eileen,  had  just  returned  from  a  week 
at  Silverside  with  the  children,  preliminary  to  moving 
the  entire  establishment  there  for  the  coming  summer ; 
for  the  horses  and  dogs  had  already  gone ;  also  Kit-Ki, 
a  pessimistic  parrot,  and  the  children's  two  Norwegian 
ponies. 

"  Silverside  is  too  lovely  for  words !  "  exclaimed 
Nina  as  Selwyn  entered  the  library.  "  The  children 
almost  went  mad.  You  should  have  seen  the  dogs, 
too — tearing  round  and  round  the  lawn  in  circles — 
poor  things !  They  were  crazy  for  the  fresh,  new 
turf.  And  Kit-Ki!  she  lay  in  the  sun  and  rolled  and 
rolled  until  her  fur  was  perfectly  filthy.  Nobody 
wanted  to  come  away;  Eileen  made  straight  for  the 
surf;  but  it  was  an  arctic  sea,  and  as  soon  as  I 
found  out  what  she  was  doing  I  made  her  come 
out." 

"  I  should  think  you  would,"  he  said ;  "  nobody 
can  do  that  and  thrive." 

15  215 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  She  seems  to,"  said  Nina ;  "  she  was  simply 
glorious  after  the  swim,  and  I  hated  to  put  a  stop 
to  it.  And  you  should  see  her  drying  her  hair  and 
helping  Plunket  to  roll  the  tennis-courts — that  hair 
of  hers  blowing  like  gold  flames,  and  her  sleeves  rolled 
to  her  arm-pits ! — and  you  should  see  her  down  in 
the  dirt  playing  marbles  with  Billy  and  Drina — shoot 
ing  away  excitedly  and  exclaiming  '  fen-dubs ! '  and 
4  knuckle-down,  Billy ! ' — like  any  gamin  you  ever 
heard  of.  Totally  unspoiled,  Phil! — in  spite  of  all 
the  success  of  her  first  winter ! — and  do  you  know  that 
she  had  no  end  of  men  seriously  entangled?  I  don't 
mind  your  knowing — but  Sudbury  Gray  came  to  me, 
and  I  told  him  he'd  better  wait,  but  in  he  blundered 
and — he's  done  for,  now;  and  so  are  my  plans.  He's 
an  imbecile!  And  then,  who  on  earth  do  you  think 
came  waddling  into  the  arena?  Percy  Draymore ! 
Phil,  it  was  an  anxious  problem  for  me — and  although 
I  didn't  really  want  Eileen  to  marry  into  that  set — 
still — with  the  Draymores'  position  and  tremendous 
influence —  But  she  merely  stared  at  him  in  cold 
astonishment.  And  there  were  others,  too,  callow  for 
the  most  part.  .  .  .  Phil?" 

"What?"  he  said,  laughing. 

His  sister  regarded  him  smilingly,  then  partly 
turned  around  and  perched  herself  on  the  padded  arm 
of  a  great  chair. 

"Phil,  am  I  garrulous?" 

"  No,  dear ;  you  are  far  too  reticent." 

"  Pooh !  Suppose  I  do  talk  a  great  deal.  I  like 
to.  Besides,  I  always  have  something  interesting  to 
say,  don't  I?" 

"  Always ! " 

"  Well,  then,  why  do  you  look  at  me  so  humor- 
216 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


ously  out  of  those  nice  gray  eyes?  .   .   .  Phil,  you  are 
growing  handsome !     Do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake !  "  he  protested,  red  and  un 
comfortable,  "  what  utter  nonsense  you " 

"  Of  course  it  bores  you  to  be  told  so ;  and  you 
look  so  delightfully  ashamed — like  a  reproved  setter- 
puppy!  Well,  then,  don't  laugh  at  my  loquacity 
again ! — because  I'm  going  to  say  something  else.  .  .  . 
Come  over  here,  Phil;  no — close  to  me.  I  wish  to 
put  my  hands  on  your  shoulders;  like  that.  Now 
look  at  me !  Do  you  really  love  me  ?  " 

"  Sure  thing,  Ninette." 

"And  you  know  I  adore  you;  don't  you?" 

"  Madly,  dear,  but  I  forgive  you." 

"  No ;  I  want  you  to  be  serious.  Because  I'm 
pretty  serious.  See,  I'm  not  smiling  now;  I  don't 
feel  like  it.  Because  it  is  a  very,  very  important 
matter,  Phil — this  thing  that  has — has — almost  hap 
pened.  .  .  .  It's  about  Eileen.  .  .  .  And  it  really  has 
happened." 

"What  has  she  done?"  he  asked  curiously. 

His  sister's  eyes  were  searching  his  very  diligently, 
as  though  in  quest  of  something  elusive;  and  he  gazed 
serenely  back,  the  most  unsuspicious  of  smiles  touch 
ing  his  mouth. 

"  Phil,  dear,  a  young  girl — a  very  young  girl — is 
a  vapid  and  uninteresting  proposition  to  a  man  of 
thirty-five;  isn't  she?" 

"  Rather — in  some  ways." 

"  In  what  way  is  she  not?  " 

"  Well — to  me,  for  example — she  is  acceptable  as 
children  are  acceptable — a  blessed,  sweet,  clean  relief 
from  the  women  of  the  Fanes'  set,  for  example?  " 

"Like  Rosamund?" 

217 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  Yes.  And,  Ninette,  you  and  Austin  seem  to  be 
drifting  out  of  the  old  circles — the  sort  that  you 
and  I  were  accustomed  to.  You  don't  mind  my  saying 
it,  do  you? — but  there  were  so  many  people  in  this 
town  who  had  something  besides  millions — amusing, 
well-bred,  jolly  people  who  had  no  end  of  good  times, 
but  who  didn't  gamble  and  guzzle  and  stuff  them 
selves  and  their  friends — who  were  not  eternally  hang 
ing  around  other  people's  wives.  Where  are  they, 
dear?" 

"  If  you  are  indicting  all  of  my  friends,  Phil " 

"  I  don't  mean  all  of  your  friends — only  a  small 
proportion — which,  however,  connects  your  circle  with 
that  deadly,  idle,  brainless  bunch — the  insolent  chat 
terers  at  the  opera,  the  gorged  dowagers,  the  worn- 
out,  passionless  men,  the  enervated  matrons  of  the  sum 
mer  capital,  the  chlorotic  squatters  on  huge  yachts, 
the  speed-mad  fugitives  from  the  furies  of  ennui, 
the  neurotic  victims  of  mental  cirrhosis,  the  jewelled 
animals  whose  moral  code  is  the  code  of  the  barn 
yard !" 

"Philip!" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  they  are  any  more  vicious 
than  the  idle  and  mentally  incompetent  in  any  walk 
of  life.  East  Side,  West  Side,  Harlem,  Hell's  Kitchen, 
Fifth  Avenue,  Avenue  A,  and  Abingdon  Square — the 
denizens  are  only  locally  different,  not  specifically — 
the  species  remains  unchanged.  But  everywhere,  in 
every  quarter  and  class  and  set  and  circle  there  is 
always  the  depraved;  and  the  logical  links  that  con 
nect  them  are  unbroken  from  Fifth  Avenue  to  China 
town,  from  the  half-crazed  extravagances  of  the 
Orchils'  Louis  XIV  ball  to  a  New  Year's  reception 
at  the  Haymarket  where  Troy  Lil's  diamonds  out- 

218 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


shine  the  phony  pearls  of  Hoboken  Fanny,  and  Hat 
pin  Molly  leads  the  spiel  with  Clarence  the  Pig." 

"  Phil,  you  are  too  disgusting !  " 

"  I'm  sorry — it  isn't  very  nice  of  me,  I  suppose. 
But,  dear,  I'm  dead  tired  of  moral  squalor.  I  do 
like  the  brightness  of  things,  too,  but  I  don't  care 
for  the  phosphorescence  of  social  decay." 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  exclaimed 
in  dismay.  "  You  are  talking  like  the  wildest  so 
cialist." 

He  laughed.  "  We  have  become  a  nation  of  what 
you  call  '  socialists  ' — though  there  are  other  names 
for  us  which  mean  more.  I  am  not  discontented,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean;  I  am  only  impatient;  and 
there  is  a  difference.  .  .  .  And  you  have  just  asked 
me  whether  a  young  girl  is  interesting  to  me.  I  an 
swer,  yes,  thank  God! — for  the  cleaner,  saner,  happier 
hours  I  have  spent  this  winter  among  my  own  kind 
have  been  spent  where  the  younger  set  dominated. 

"  They  are  good  for  us,  Nina ;  they  are  the  hope 
of  our  own  kind — well-taught,  well-drilled,  wholesome 
even  when  negative  in  mind ;  and  they  come  into  our 
world  so  diffident  yet  so  charmingly  eager,  so  finished 
yet  so  unspoiled,  that — how  can  they  fail  to  touch  a 
man  and  key  him  to  his  best?  How  can  they  fail  to 
arouse  in  us  the  best  of  sympathy,  of  chivalry,  of 
anxious  solicitude  lest  they  become  some  day  as  we 
are  and  stare  at  life  out  of  the  faded  eyes  of  knowl 
edge!" 

He  laid  his  hands  in  hers,  smiling  a  little  at  his 
own  earnestness. 

"  Alarmist?  No!  The  younger  set  are  better  than 
those  who  bred  them;  and  if,  in  time,  they,  too,  fall 
short,  they  will  not  fall  as  far  as  their  parents.  And, 

219 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


in  their  turn,  when  they  look  around  them  at  the 
younger  set  whom  they  have  taught  in  the  light  and 
wisdom  of  their  own  shortcomings,  they  will  see 
fresher,  sweeter,  lovelier  young  people  than  we  see 
now.  And  it  will  continue  so,  dear,  through  the  jolly 
generations.  Life  is  all  right,  only,  like  art,  it  is  very, 
very  long  sometimes." 

"  Good  out  of  evil,  Phil?  "  asked  his  sister,  smiling; 
"  innocence  from  the  hotbeds  of  profligacy  ?  purity 
out  of  vulgarity?  sanity  from  hideous  ostentation? 
Is  that  what  you  come  preaching  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  isn't  it  curious !  Look  at  that  old 
harridan,  Mrs.  Sanxon  Oi^hil!  There  are  no  more 
innocent  and  charming  girls\in  Manhattan  than  her 
daughters.  She  knew  enougn  to  make  them  different; 
so  does  the  majority  of  that/sort.  Look  at  the  Card- 
well  girl  and  the  Innis  girl  and  the  Craig  girl!  Look 
at  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes's  <mildren !  And,  Nina — even 
Molly  Hatpin's  wastrel  TTOJf  shall  never  learn  what 
her  mother  knows  if  Des±iirV  "will  help  Madame  Molly 
ever  so  little.  And  tjEhiiyl  that  Destiny  is  often  very 
kind — even  to  the  Hat^mH  offspring." 

Nina  sat  silent  >^>n  ihe  padded  arm  of  her  chair, 
looking  up  at 

"  Mad  prea^heW  \Mad  Mullah ! — dear,  dear  fel 
low  !  "  she  said  tt^eray ;  "  all  ills  of  the  world  canst 
thou  discount,  but  ifcot  thine  own." 

"  Those,  too7*ne  insisted,  laughing ;  "  I  had  a  talk 
with  Boots — but,  anyway,  I'd  already  arrived  at  my 
own  conclusion  that — that — I'm  rather  overdoing  this 
blighted  business " 

"Phil!"— in  quick  delight. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  reddening  nicely ;  "  between  you 
and  Boots  and  myself  I've  decided  that  I'm  going  in 

220 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


for — for  whatever  any  man  is  going  in  for — life ! 
Ninette,  life  to  the  full  and  up  to  the  hilt  for  mine ! — 
not  side-stepping  anything.  .  .  .  Because  I — because, 
Nina,  it's  shameful  for  a  man  to  admit  to  himself  that 
he  cannot  make  good,  no  matter  how  thoroughly  he's 
been  hammered  to  the  ropes.  And  so  I'm  starting 
out  again — not  hunting  trouble  like  him  of  La  Mancha 
— but,  like  him  in  this,  that  I  shall  not  avoid  it.  ... 
Is  that  plain  to  you,  li ttle  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  it  is !  "  she  murmured ;  "  I  am  so 
happy,  so  proud — but  I  knew  it  was  in  your  blood, 
Phil ;  I  knew  that  you  were  merely  hurt  and  stunned — 
badly  hurt,  but  not  fatally! — you  could  not  be;  no 
weaklings  come  from  our  race." 

"  But  still  our  race  has  always  been  law-abiding — 
observant  of  civil  and  religious  law.  If  I  make  my 
self  free  again,  I  take  some  laws  into  my  own  hands." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  he  said  grimly,  "  for  example,  I  am  for 
bidden,  in  some  States,  to  marry  again " 

"  But  you  know  there  was  no  reason  for   that !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  happen  to  know ;  but  still  I  am  taking 
the  liberty  of  disregarding  the  law  if  I  do.  Then, 
what  clergyman,  of  our  faith,  would  marry  me  to  any 
body?" 

"  That,  too,  you  know  is  not  just,  Phil.  You  were 
innocent  of  wrong-doing ;  you  were  chivalrous  enough 
to  make  no  defence " 

"Wrong-doing?  Nina,  I  was  such  a  fool  that  I 
was  innocent  of  sense  enough  to  do  either  good  or 
evil.  Yet  I  did  do  harm;  there  never  was  such  a 
thing  as  a  harmless  fool.  But  all  I  can  do  is  to 
go  and  sin  no  more;  yet  there  is  little  merit  in  good 
conduct  if  one  hides  in  a  hole  too  small  to  admit 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


temptation.  No;  there  are  laws  civil  and  laws  ecclesi 
astical;  and  sometimes  I  think  a  man  is  justified  in 
repealing  the  form  and  retaining  the  substance  of 
them,  and  remoulding  it  for  purposes  of  self-govern 
ment  ;  as  I  do,  now.  .  .  .  Once,  oppressed  by  form 
and  theory,  I  told  you  that  to  remarry  after  divorce 
was  a  slap  at  civilisation.  .  .  .  Which  is  true  some 
times  and  sometimes  not.  Common  sense,  not  laws, 
must  govern  a  man  in  that  matter.  But  if  any  motive 
except  desire  to  be  a  decent  citizen  sways  a  self- 
punished  man  toward  self-leniency,  then  is  he  unpar 
donable  if  he  breaks  those  laws  which  truly  were 
fashioned  for  such  as  he ! " 

"  Saint  Simon !  Saint  Simon !  Will  you  please 
arise,  stretch  your  limbs,  and  descend  from  your  pil 
lar?  "  said  Nina;  "because  I  am  going  to  say  some 
thing  that  is  very,  very  serious ;  and  very  near  my 
heart." 

"  I  remember,"  he  said ;  "  it's  about  Eileen,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  about  Eileen." 

He  waited ;  and  again  his  sister's  eyes  began  rest 
lessly  searching  his  for  something  that  she  seemed 
unable  to  find. 

"You  make  it  a  little  difficult,  Phil;  I  don't  be 
lieve  I  had  better  speak  of  it." 

"•Why   not?" 

"Why,  just  because  you  ask  me  'why  not?'  for 
example." 

"  Is  it  anything  that  worries  you  about  Eileen  ?  " 

"  N-no ;  not  exactly.  It  is — it  may  be  a  phase ; 
and  yet  I  know  that  if  it  is  anything  at  all  it  is 
not  a  passing  phase.  She  is  different  from  the  ma 
jority,  you  see — very  intelligent,  very  direct.  She 

222 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


never  forgets — for  example.  Her  loyalty  is  quite  re 
markable,  Phil.  She  is  very  intense  in  her — her  be 
liefs — the  more  so  because  she  is  unusually  free  from 
impulse — even  quite  ignorant  of  the  deeper  emotions; 
or  so  I  believed  until — until " 

"  Is  she  in  love?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  little,  Phil." 

"  Does  she  admit  it  ?  "  he  demanded,  unpleasantly 
astonished. 

"  She  admits  it  in  a  dozen  innocent  ways  to  me 
who  can  understand  her;  but  to  herself  she  has  not 
admitted  it,  I  think — could  not  admit  it  yet;  because 
— because " 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Selwyn ;  and  there  was  in 
his  voice  the  slightest  undertone  of  a  growl. 

"Dear,  shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because — because — Phil,  I  think  that  our  pretty 
Eileen  is  a  little  in  love  with — you." 

He  straightened  out  to  his  full  height,  scarlet  to 
the  temples ;  she  dropped  her  linked  fingers  in  her  lap, 
gazing  at  him  almost  sadly. 

"  Dear,  all  the  things  you  are  preparing  to  shout 
at  me  are  quite  useless;  I  know,  I  don't  imagine,  I 
don't  forestall,  I  don't  predict.  I  am  not  discount 
ing  any  hopes  of  mine,  because,  Phil,  I  had  not 
thought — had  not  planned  such  a  thing — between  you 
and  Eileen — I  don't  know  why.  But  I  had  not;  there 
was  Suddy  Gray — a  nice  boy,  perfectly  qualified;  and 
there  were  alternates  more  worldly,  perhaps.  But  I 
did  not  think  of  you ;  and  that  is  what  now  amazes 
and  humiliates  me;  because  it  was  the  obvious  that  I 
overlooked — the  most  perfectly  natural " 

"  Nina !  you  are  madder  than  a  March  heiress !  " 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  Air  your  theories,  Phil,  then  come  back  to  reali 
ties.  The  conditions  remain;  Eileen  is  certainly  a 
little  in  love  with  you;  and  a  little  with  her  means 
something.  And  you,  evidently,  have  never  harboured 
any  serious  intentions  toward  the  child;  I  can  see  that, 
because  you  are  the  most  transparent  man  I  ever  knew. 
Now,  the  question  is,  what  is  to  be  done?  " 

"  Done  ?  Good  heavens !  Nothing,  of  course ! 
There's  nothing  to  do  anything  about !  Nina,  you  are 
the  most  credulous  little  matchmaker  that  ever " 

"  Oh,  Phil,  must  I  listen  to  all  those  fulminations 
before  you  come  down  to  the  plain  fact?  And  it's 
plain  to  me  as  the  nose  on  your  countenance;  and 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it!  I  certainly  was 
a  perfect  fool  to  confide  in  you,  for  you  are  exhibit 
ing  the  coolness  and  sagacity  of  a  stampeded  chicken." 

He  laughed  in  spite  of  himself;  then,  realising  a 
little  what  her  confidence  had  meant,  he  turned  a  richer 
red  and  slowly  lifted  his  fingers  to  his  moustache,  while 
his  perplexed  gray  eyes  began  to  narrow  as  though 
sun-dazzled. 

"  I  am,  of  course,  obliged  to  believe  that  you  are 
mistaken,"  he  said ;  "  a  man  cannot  choose  but  be 
lieve  in  that  manner.  .  .  .  There  is  no  very  young 
girl — nobody,  old  or  young,  whom  I  like  as  thoroughly 
as  I  do  Eileen  Erroll.  She  knows  it;  so  do  you,  Nina. 
It  is  open  and  above-board.  ...  I  should  be  very  un 
happy  if  anything  marred  or  distorted  our  friendship. 
...  I  am  quite  confident  that  nothing  will." 

"  In  that  frame  of  mind,"  said  his  sister,  smiling, 
"  you  are  the  healthiest  companion  in  the  world  for 
her,  for  you  will  either  cure  her,  or  she  you;  and  it 
is  all  right  either  way." 

"  Certainly  it  will  be  all  right,"  he  said  confidently. 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


For  a  few  moments  he  paced  the  room,  reflective, 
quickening  his  pace  all  the  while ;  and  his  sister  watched 
him,  silent  in  her  indecision. 

"  I'm  going  up  to  see  the  kids,"  he  said  abruptly. 

The  children,  one  and  all,  were  in  the  Park;  but 
Eileen  was  sewing  in  the  nursery,  and  his  sister  did 
not  call  him  back  as  he  swung  out  of  the  room  and 
up  the  stairs.  But  when  he  had  disappeared,  Nina 
dropped  into  her  chair,  aware  that  she  had  played 
her  best  card  prematurely;  forced  by  Rosamund,  who 
had  just  told  her  that  rumour  continued  to  be  very 
busy  coupling  her  brother's  name  with  the  name  of 
the  woman  who  once  had  been  his  wife. 

Nina  was  now  thoroughly  convinced  of  Alixe's  un 
usual  capacity  for  making  mischief. 

She  had  known  Alixe  always — and  she  had  seen 
her  develop  from  a  talented,  restless,  erratic,  emo 
tional  girl,  easily  moved  to  generosity,  into  an  im 
pulsive  woman,  reckless  to  the  point  of  ruthlessness 
when  ennui  and  unhappiness  stampeded  her;  a  woman 
not  deliberately  selfish,  not  wittingly  immoral,  for  she 
lacked  the  passion  which  her  emotion  was  sometimes 
mistaken  for ;  and  she  was  kind  by  instinct. 

Sufficiently  intelligent  to  suffer  from  the  lack  of  it 
in  others,  cultured  to  the  point  of  recognising  culture, 
her  dangerous  unsoundness  lay  in  her  utter  lack  of 
mental  stamina  when  conditions  became  unpleasant  be 
yond  her  will,  not  her  ability  to  endure  them. 

The  consequences  of  her  own  errors  she  refused 
to  be  burdened  with;  to  escape  somehow,  was  her 
paramount  impulse,  and  she  always  tried  to — had 
always  attempted  it  even  in  school-days — and  far 
ther  back  when  Nina  first  remembered  her  as  a 
thin,  eager,  restless  little  girl  scampering  from  one 

225 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


scrape  into  another  at  full  speed.  Even  in  those 
days  there  were  moments  when  Nina  believed  her  to 
be  actually  irrational,  but  there  was  every  reason 
not  to  say  so  to  the  heedless  scatterbrain  whose 
father,  in  the  prime  of  life,  sat  all  day  in  his  room, 
his  faded  eyes  fixed  wistfully  on  the  childish  toys  which 
his  attendant  brought  to  him  from  his  daughter's 
nursery. 

All  this  Nina  was  remembering ;  and  again  she  won 
dered  bitterly  at  Alixe's  treatment  of  her  brother,  and 
what  explanation  there  could  ever  be  for  it — except 
one. 

Lately,  too,  Alixe  had  scarcely  been  at  pains  to 
conceal  her  contempt  for  her  husband,  if  what  Rosa 
mund  related  was  true.  It  was  only  one  more  head 
long  scrape,  this  second  marriage,  and  Nina  knew  Alixe 
well  enough  to  expect  the  usual  stampede  toward  that 
gay  phantom  which  was  always  beckoning  onward  to 
promised  happiness — that  goal  of  heart's  desire  al 
ready  lying  so  far  behind  her — and  farther  still  for 
every  step  her  little  flying  feet  were  taking  in  the 
oldest,  the  vainest,  the  most  hopeless  chase  in  the  world 
— the  headlong  hunt  for  happiness. 

And  if  that  blind  hunt  should  lead  once  more 
toward  Selwyn?  Suppose,  freed  from  Ruthven,  she 
turned  in  her  tracks  and  threw  herself  and  her  youth 
ful  unhappiness  straight  at  the  man  who  had  not  yet 
destroyed  the  picture  that  Nina  found  when  she  visited 
her  brother's  rooms  with  the  desire  to  be  good  to  him 
with  rocking-chairs ! 

Not  that  she  really  believed  or  feared  that  Philip 
would  consider  such  an  impossible  reconciliation ;  pride, 
and  a  sense  of  the  absurd,  must  always  check  any  such 
weird  caprice  of  her  brother's  conscience;  and  yet — 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


and  yet  other  amazing  and  mismated  couples  had  done 
it — had  been  reunited. 

And  Nina  was  mightily  troubled,  for  Alixe's  ca 
pacity  for  mischief  was  boundless;  and  that  she,  in 
some  manner,  had  already  succeeded  in  stirring  up 
Philip,  was  a  rumour  that  persisted  and  would  not  be 
annihilated. 

To  inform  a  man  frankly  that  a  young  girl  is 
a  little  in  love  with  him  is  one  of  the  oldest,  simplest, 
and  easiest  methods  of  interesting  that  man — unless 
he  happen  to  be  in  love  with  somebody  else.  And 
Nina  had  taken  her  chances  that  the  picture  of  Alixe 
was  already  too  unimportant  for  the.  ceremony  of 
incineration.  Besides,  what  she  had  ventured  to  say 
to  him  was  her  belief ;  the  child  appeared  to  be  utterly 
absorbed  in  her  increasing  intimacy  with  Selwyn. 
She  talked  of  little  else ;  her  theme  was  Selwyn — 
his  influence  on  Gerald,  and  her  delight  in  his  com 
panionship.  They  had,  at  his  suggestion,  taken  up 
together  the  study  of  Cretan  antiquities — a  sort  of 
tender  pilgrimage  for  her,  because,  with  the  aid  of 
her  father's  and  mother's  letters,  note-books,  and  pa 
pers,  she  and  Selwyn  were  following  on  the  map  the 
journeys  and  discoveries  of  her  father. 

But  this  was  not  all ;  Nina's  watchful  eyes  opened 
wider  and  wider  as  she  witnessed  in  Eileen  the  nais- 
sance  of  an  unconscious  and  delicate  coquetry,  quite 
unabashed,  yet  the  more  significant  for  that ;  and  Nina, 
intent  on  the  new  phenomena,  began  to  divine  more 
about  Eileen  in  a  single  second,  than  the  girl  could 
have  suspected  of  herself  in  a  month  of  introspection 
and  of  prayer. 

Love  was  not  there ;  Nina  understood  that ;  but 
its  germ  was — still  dormant,  but  bedded  deliciously  in 

227 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


congenial  soil — the  living  germ  in  all  its  latent  prom 
ise,  ready  to  swell  with  the  first  sudden  heart-beat, 
quicken  with  the  first  quickening  of  the  pulse,  unfold 
into  perfect  symmetry  if  ever  the  warm,  even  current 
in  the  veins  grew  swift  and  hot  under  the  first  scorch 
ing  whisper  of  Truth. 

Eileen,  sewing  by  the  nursery  window,  looked  up; 
her  little  Alsatian  maid,  cross-legged  on  the  floor  at 
her  feet,  sewing  away  diligently,  also  looked  up,  then 
scrambled  to  her  feet  as  Selwyn  halted  on  the  thres- 
old  of  the  room. 

"  Why,  how  odd  you  look !  "  said  Eileen,  laughing : 
"  come  in,  please ;  Susanne  and  I  are  only  mending 
some  of  my  summer  things.  Were  you  in  search  of 
the  children? — don't  say  so  if  you  were,  because  I'm 
quite  happy  in  believing  that  you  knew  I  was  here. 
Did  you?" 

"Where  are  the  children?"  he  asked. 

"  In  the  Park,  my  very  rude  friend.  You  will 
find  them  on  the  Mall  if  you  start  at  once." 

He  hesitated,  but  finally  seated  himself,  omitting 
the  little  formal  hand-shake  with  which  they  always 
met,  even  after  an  hour's  separation.  Of  course  she 
noticed  this,  and,  bending  low  above  her  sewing,  won 
dered  why. 

It  seemed  to  him,  for  a  moment,  as  though  he 
were  looking  at  a  woman  he  had  heard  about  and 
had  just  met  for  the  first  time.  His  observation  of 
her  now  was  leisurely,  calm,  and  thorough — not  so 
calm,  however,  when,  impatient  of  his  reticence,  bend 
ing  there  over  her  work,  she  raised  her  dark-blue  eyes 
to  his,  her  head  remaining  lowered.  The  sweet,  silent 
inspection  lasted  but  a  moment,  then  she  resumed  her 

228 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


stitches,  aware  that  something  in  him  had  changed 
since  she  last  had  seen  him ;  but  she  merely  smiled 
quietly  to  herself,  confident  of  his  unaltered  devotion 
in  spite  of  the  strangely  hard  and  unresponsive  gaze 
that  had  uneasily  evaded  hers. 

As  her  white  fingers  flew  with  the  glimmering 
needle  she  reflected  on  conditions  as  she  had  left  them 
a  week  ago.  A  week  ago,  between  him  and  her  the  most 
perfect  of  understandings  existed;  and  the  conscious 
ness  of  it  she  had  carried  with  her  every  moment  in 
the  country — amid  the  icy  tumble  of  the  surf,  on  long 
vigorous  walks  over  the  greening  hills  where  wild 
moorland  winds  whipped  like  a  million  fairy  switches 
till  the  young  blood  fairly  sang,  pouring  through  her 
veins. 

Since  that — some  time  within  the  week,  someth'uig 
evidently  had  happened  to  him,  here  in  the  city  while 
she  had  been  away.  What? 

As  she  bent  above  the  fine  linen  garment  on  her 
knee,  needle  flying,  a  sudden  memory  stirred  coldly — 
the  recollection  of  her  ride  with  Rosamund ;  and  in 
stinctively  her  clear  eyes  flew  open  and  she  raised  her 
head,  turning  directly  toward  him  a  disturbed  gaze 
he  did  not  this  time  evade. 

In  silence  their  regard  lingered;  then,  satisfied,  she 
smiled  again,  saying :  "  Have  I  been  away  so  long 
that  we  must  begin  all  over,  Captain  Selwyn?  " 

"Begin  what,  Eileen?" 

"  To  remember  that  the  silence  of  selfish  preoccu 
pation  is  a  privilege  I  have  not  accorded  you?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  preoccupied " 

"  Oh,  worse  and  worse !  "  She  shook  her  head  and 
began  to  thread  the  needle.  "  I  see  that  my  week's 
absence  has  not  been  very  good  for  you.  I  knew  it 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


the  moment  you  came  in  with  all  that  guilty  absent- 
minded  effrontery  which  I  have  forbidden.  Now,  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  recommence  your  subjection. 
Ring  for  tea,  please.  And,  Susanne  " — speaking  in 
French  and  gathering  up  a  fluffy  heap  of  mended 
summer  waists — "  these  might  as  well  be  sent  to  the 
laundress — thank  you,  little  one ;  your  sewing  is  always 
beautiful." 

The  small  maid,  blushing  with  pleasure,  left  the 
room,  both  arms  full  of  feminine  apparel ;  Selwyn  rang 
for  tea,  then  strolled  back  to  the  window,  where  he 
stood  with  both  hands  thrust  into  his  coat-pockets, 
staring  out  at  the  sunset. 

A  primrose  light  bathed  the  city.  Below,  through 
the  new  foliage  of  the  Park,  the  little  lake  reflected 
it  in  tints  of  deeper  gold  and  amber  where  children 
clustered  together,  sailing  toy  ships.  But  there  was 
no  wind;  the  tiny  sails  and  flags  hung  motionless, 
and  out  and  in,  among  the  craft  becalmed,  steered  a 
family  of  wild  ducks,  the  downy  yellow  fledglings  dart 
ing  hither  and  thither  in  chase  of  gnats,  the  mother 
bird  following  in  leisurely  solicitude. 

And,  as  he  stood  there,  absently  intent  on  sky 
and  roof  and  foliage,  her  soft  bantering  voice  aroused 
him ;  and  turning  he  found  her  beside  him,  her  humor 
ous  eyes  fixed  on  his  face. 

"  Suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  we  go  back  to  first 
principles  and  resume  life  properly  by  shaking  hands. 
Shall  we?" 

He  coloured  up  as  he  took  her  hand  in  his ;  then 
they  both  laughed  at  the  very  vigorous  shake. 

"  What  a  horribly  unfriendly  creature  you  can  be," 
she  said.  "  Never  a  greeting,  never  even  a  formal  ex 
pression  of  pleasure  at  my  return " 

230 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


"  You  have  not  returned  \  "  he  said,  smiling ;  "  you 
have  been  with  me  every  moment,  Eileen." 

"  What  a  pretty  tribute !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  I  am 
beginning  to  recognise  traces  of  my  training  after 
all.  And  it  is  high  time,  Captain  Selwyn,  because  I 
was  half  convinced  that  you  had  escaped  to  the  woods 
again.  What,  if  you  please,  have  you  been  doing 
in  town  since  I  paroled  you?  Nothing?  Oh,  it's  very 
likely.  You're  probably  too  ashamed  to  tell  me.  Now 
note  the  difference  between  us ;  /  have  been  madly  tear 
ing  over  turf  and  dune,  up  hills,  down  hillocks,  along 
headlands,  shores,  and  shingle ;  and  I  had  the  happiness 
of  being  half-frozen  in  the  surf  before  Nina  learned  of 
it  and  stopped  me.  .  .  .  Come;  sit  over  here;  because 
I'm  quite  crazy  to  tell  you  everything  as  usual — about 
how  I  played  marbles  with  the  children — yes,  indeed ! — 
down  on  my  knees  and  shooting  hard!  Oh,  it  is  divine, 
that  sea-girdled,  wind-drenched  waste  of  moor  and 
thicket ! — the  strange  little  stunted  forests  in  the  hol 
lows  of  the  miniature  hiUs — do  you  remember?  The 
trees,  you  know,  grow  only  to  the  wind-level,  then 
spread  out  like  those  grotesque  trees  in  fairy-haunted 
forests — so  old,  so  fantastic  are  these  curious  patches 
of  woods  that  I  am  for  ever  watching  to  see  something 
magic  moving  far  in  the  twilight  of  the  trees !  .  .  . 
And  one  night  I  went  out  on  the  moors ;  oh,  heavenly ! 
celestial ! — under  the  stretch  of  stars !  Elf -land  in 
silence,  save  for  the  bewitched  wind.  And  the  fairy 
forests  drew  me  toward  their  edges,  down,  down  into 
the  hollow,  with  delicious  shivers. 

"  Once  I  trembled  indeed,  for  the  starlight  on  the 

swamp  was  suddenly  splintered  into  millions  of  flashes ; 

and  my  heart  leaped  in  pure  fright!   ...   It  was  only 

a  wild  duck  whirring  headlong  into  the  woodland  wa- 

16  231 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


ters — but  oh,  if  you  had  been  there  to  see  the  weird 
beauty  of  its  coming — and  the  star-splashed  blackness ! 
You  must  see  that  with  me,  some  time.  .  .  .  When  are 
you  coming  to  Silverside?  We  go  back  very  soon, 
now.  .  .  .  And  I  don't  feel  at  all  like  permitting  you 
to  run  wild  in  town  when  I'm  away  and  playing  hop 
scotch  on  the  lawn  with  Drina !  " 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair,  laughing,  her  hands 
linked  together  behind  her  head. 

"  Really,  Captain  Selwyn,  I  confess  I  missed  you. 
It's  much  better  fun  when  two  can  see  all  those  things 
that  I  saw — the  wild  roses  just  a  tangle  of  slender 
green-mossed  stems,  the  new  grass  so  intensely  green, 
with  a  touch  of  metallic  iridescence;  the  cat's-paws 
chasing  each  other  across  the  purple  inland  ponds — 
and  that  cheeky  red  fox  that  came  trotting  out  of 
the  briers  near  Wonder  Head,  and,  when  he  saw  me, 
coolly  attempted  to  stare  me  out  of  countenance !  Oh, 
it's  all  very  well  to  tell  you  about  it,  but  there  is  a 
little  something  lacking  in  unshared  pleasures.  .  .  . 
Yes,  a  great  deal  lacking.  .  .  .  And  here  is  our  tea- 
tray  at  last." 

Nina  came  up  to  join  them.  Her  brother  winced 
as  she  smiled  triumphantly  at  him,  and  the  colour 
continued  vivid  in  his  face  while  she  remained  in  the 
room.  Then  the  children  charged  upstairs,  fresh  from 
the  Park,  clamouring  for  food;  and  they  fell  upon 
Selwyn's  neck,  and  disarranged  his  scarf-pin,  and 
begged  for  buttered  toast  and  crumpets,  and  got 
what  they  demanded  before  Nina's  authority  could 
prevent. 

"  I  saw  a  rabbit  at  Silverside ! "  said  Billy,  "  but 
do  you  know,  Uncle  Philip,  that  hunting  pack  of  ours 
is  no  good!  Not  one  dog  paid  any  attention  to  the 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


rabbit  though  Drina  and  I  did  our  best — didn't  we, 
Drina?" 

"  You  should  have  seen  them,"  murmured  Eileen, 
leaning  close  to  whisper  to  Selwyn ;  "  the  children  had 
fits  when  the  rabbit  came  hopping  across  the  road  out 
of  the  Hither  Woods.  But  the  dogs  all  ran  madly 
the  other  way,  and  I  thought  Billy  would  die  of 
mortification." 

Nina  stood  up,  waving  a  crumpet  which  she  had 
just  rescued  from  Winthrop.  "Hark!"  she  said, 
"  there's  the  nursery  curfew ! — and  not  one  wretched 
infant  bathed!  Billy!  March  bathward,  my  son! 
Drina,  sweetheart,  take  command.  Prune  souffle  for 
the  obedient,  dry  bread  for  rebels  !  Come,  children ! — 
don't  let  mother  speak  to  you  twice." 

"  Let's  go  down  to  the  library,"  said  Eileen  to 
Selwyn — "  you  are  dining  with  us,  of  course.  .  .  . 
What?  Yes,  indeed,  you  are.  The  idea  of  your  at 
tempting  to  escape  to  some  dreadful  club  and  talk 
man-talk  all  the  evening  when  I  have  not  begun  to  tell 
you  what  I  did  at  Silverside !  " 

They  left  the  nursery  together  and  descended  the 
stairs  to  the  library.  Austin  had  just  come  in,  and 
he  looked  up  from  his  solitary  cup  of  tea  as  they  en 
tered: 

"  Hello,  youngsters !  What  conspiracy  are  you 
up  to  now?  I  suppose  you  sniffed  the  tea  and  have 
come  to  deprive  me.  By  the  way,  Phil,  I  hear  that 
you've  sprung  the  trap  on  those  Siowitha  people." 

"  Neergard  has,  I  believe." 

"Well,  isn't  it  all  one?" 

"  No,  it  is  not !  "  retorted  Selwyn  so  bluntly  that 
Eileen  turned  from  the  window  at  a  sound  in  his 
voice  which  she  had  never  before  heard. 

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THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  Oh !  "  Austin  stared  over  his  suspended  teacup, 
then  drained  it.  "  Trouble  with  our  friend  Julius  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  No  trouble.  I  merely  severed  my  connection 
with  him." 

"Ah!     When?" 

"  This  morning." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Austin,  laughing,  "  I've  a  job 
for  you " 

"  No,  old  fellow ;  and  thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 
I've  half  made  up  my  mind  to  live  on  my  income 
for  a  while  and  take  up  that  Chaosite  matter 
again " 

"  And  blow  yourself  to  smithereens !  Why  spatter 
Nature  thus?  " 

"  No  fear,"  said  Selwyn,  laughing.  "  And,  if  it 
promises  anything,  I  may  come  to  you  for  advice  on 
how  to  start  it  commercially." 

"  If  it  doesn't  start  you  heavenward  you  shall  have 
my  advice  from  a  safe  distance.  I'll  telegraph  it," 
said  Austin.  "  But,  if  it's  not  personal,  why  on  earth 
have  you  shaken  Neergard?  " 

And  Selwyn  answered  simply :  "  I  don't  like  him. 
That  is  the  reason,  Austin." 

The  children  from  the  head  of  the  stairs  were  now 
shouting  demands  for  their  father;  and  Austin  rose, 
pretending  to  grumble: 

"  Those  confounded  kids !  A  man  is  never  per 
mitted  a  moment  to  himself.  Is  Nina  up  there,  Eileen ! 
Oh,  all  right.  Excuses  et  cetera;  I'll  be  back  pretty 
soon.  You'll  stay  to  dine,  Phil?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so " 

"  Yes,  he  will  stay,"  said  Eileen  calmly. 

And,  when  Austin  had  gone,  she  walked  swiftly  over 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


to  where  Selwyn  was  standing,  and  looked  him  directly 
in  the  eyes. 

"Is  all  well  with  Gerald?" 

"  Y-yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Is  he  still  with  Neergard  &  Co.?  " 

"  Yes,  Eileen." 

"And  you  don't  like  Mr.  Neergard?" 

"  N-no." 

"  Then  Gerald  must  not  remain." 

He  said  very  quietly :  "  Eileen,  Gerald  no  longer 
takes  me  into  his  confidence.  I  am  afraid — I  know, 
in  fact — that  I  have  little  influence  with  him  now.  I 
am  sorry ;  it  hurts ;  but  your  brother  is  his  own  mas 
ter,  and  he  is  at  liberty  to  choose  his  own  friends 
and  his  own  business  policy.  I  cannot  influence  him; 
I  have  learned  that  thoroughly.  Better  that  I  retain 
what  real  friendship  he  has  left  for  me  than  destroy 
it  by  any  attempt,  however  gentle,  to  interfere  in 
his  affairs." 

She  stood  before  him,  straight,  slender,  her  face 
grave  and  troubled. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  he  could 
refuse  to  listen  to  a  man  like  you." 

"  A  man  like  me,  Eileen  ?  Well,  if  I  were  worth 
listening  to,  no  doubt  he'd  listen.  But  the  fact 
remains  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  hold  his  in 
terest " 

"  Don't  give  him  up,"  she  said,  still  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes.  "  If  you  care  for  me,  don't 
give  him  up." 

"  Care  for  you,  Eileen !     You  know  I  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it.  So  you  will  not  give  up  Gerald, 
will  you  ?  He  is — is  only  a  boy — you  know  that ;  you 
know  he  has  been — perhaps — indiscreet.  But  Gerald 

235 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


is  only  a  boy.  Stand  by  him,  Captain  Selwyn;  be 
cause  Austin  does  not  know  how  to  manage  him — really 
he  doesn't.  .  .  .  There  has  been  another  unpleasant 
scene  between  them;  Gerald  told  me." 

"Did  he  tell  you  why,  Eileen?" 

"  Yes.  He  told  me  that  he  had  played  cards  for 
money,  and  he  was  in  debt.  I  know  that  sounds — 
almost  disgraceful;  but  is  not  his  need  of  help  all 
the  greater?  " 

Selwyn's  eyes  suddenly  narrowed :  "  Did  you  help 
him  out,  this  time  ?  " 

"  I — I — how  do  you  mean,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  "  But 
the  splendid  colour  in  her  face  confirmed  his  certainty 
that  she  had  used  her  own  resources  to  help  her  brother 
pay  the  gambling  debt ;  and  he  turned  away  his  eyes, 
angry  and  silent. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  "  I  did  aid  him. 
What  of  it?  Could  I  refuse?  " 

"  I  know.     Don't  aid  him  again — that  way." 

She  stared :  "  You  mean " 

"  Send  him  to  me,  child.  I  understand  such  mat 
ters;  I — that  is — "  and  in  sudden  exasperation  inex 
plicable,  for  the  moment,  to  them  both :  "  Don't  touch 
such  matters  again!  They  soil,  I  tell  you.  I  will 
not  have  Gerald  go  to  you  about  such  things !  " 

"  My  own  brother !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  brother  or  not,  he  shall  not  bring 
such  matters  near  you !  " 

"  Am  I  to  count  for  nothing,  then,  when  Gerald 
is  in  trouble  ?  "  she  demanded,  flushing  up. 

"  Count !  Count !  "  he  repeated  impatiently ;  "  of 
course  you  count !  Good  heavens !  it's  women  like  you 
who  count — and  no  others — not  one  single  other  sort 
is  of  the  slightest  consequence  in  the  world  or  to  it. 

236 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


Count?  Child,  you  control  us  all;  everything  of 
human  goodness,  of  human  hope  hinges  and  hangs  on 
you — is  made  possible,  inevitable,  because  of  you !  And 
you  ask  me  whether  you  count!  You,  who  control 
us  all,  and  always  will — as  long  as  you  are  you !  " 

She  had  turned  a  little  pale  under  his  vehemence, 
watching  him  out  of  wide  and  beautiful  eyes. 

What  she  understood — how  much  of  his  incoher 
ence  she  was  able  to  translate,  is  a  question;  but  in 
his  eyes  and  voice  there  was  something  simpler  to 
divine;  and  she  stood  very  still  while  his  roused  emo 
tions  swept  her  till  her  heart  leaped  up  and  every 
vein  in  her  ran  fiery  pride. 

"  I  am — overwhelmed  ...  I  did  not  consider  that 
I  counted — so  vitally — in  the  scheme  of  things.  But 
I  must  try  to — if  you  believe  all  this  of  me — only 
you  must  teach  me  how  to  count  for  something  in 
the  world.  Will  you?" 

"  Teach  you,  Eileen.  What  winning  mockery !  / 
teach  you?  Well,  then — I  teach  you  this — that  a 
man's  blunder  is  best  healed  by  a  man's  sympathy; 
...  I  will  stand  by  Gerald  as  long  as  he  will  let 
me  do  so — not  alone  for  your  sake,  nor  only  for  his, 
but  for  my  own.  I  promise  you  that.  Are  you  con 
tented?  " 

"  Yes." 

She  slowly  raised  one  hand,  laying  it  fearlessly  in 
both  of  his. 

"He  is  all  I  have  left,"  she  said.  "You  know 
that." 

"  I  know,  child." 

"Then — thank  you,   Captain    Selwyn." 

"  No ;  I  thank  you  for  giving  me  this  charge.  It 
means  that  a  man  must  raise  his  own  standard  of 

237 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


living  before  he  can  accept  such  responsibility.  .  .  . 
You  endow  me  with  all  that  a  man  ought  to  be ;  and 
my  task  is  doubled;  for  it  is  not  only  Gerald  but 
I  myself  who  require  surveillance." 

He  looked  up,  smilingly  serious :  "  Such  women  as 
you  alone  can  fit  your  brother  and  me  for  an  end 
less  guard  duty  over  the  white  standard  you  have 
planted  on  the  outer  walls  of  the  world." 

"  You  say  things  to  me — sometimes — "  she  fal 
tered,  "  that  almost  hurt  with  the  pleasure  they  give." 

"  Did  that  give  you  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Y-yes ;  the  surprise  of  it  was  almost  too — too 
keen.  I  wish  you  would  not — but  I  am  glad  you  did. 
.  .  .  You  see  " — dropping  into  a  great  velvet  chair — 
"  having  been  of  no  serious  consequence  to  anybody  for 
so  many  years — to  be  told,  suddenly,  that  I — that  I 
count  so  vitally  with  men — a  man  like  you " 

She  sank  back,  drew  one  small  hand  across  her  eyes, 
and  rested  a  moment ;  then  leaning  forward,  she  set  her 
elbow  on  one  knee  and  bracketed  her  chin  between  fore 
finger  and  thumb. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  said,  smiling  faintly,  "  but, 
oh,  the  exalted  dreams  young  girls  indulge  in!  And 
one  and  all  centre  around  some  power-inspired  attitude 
of  our  own  when  a  great  crisis  comes.  And  most  of  all 
we  dream  of  counting  heavily;  and  more  than  all  we 
clothe  ourselves  in  the  celestial  authority  which  dares 
to  forgive.  ...  Is  it  not  pathetically  amusing — the 
mental  process  of  a  young  girl? — and  the  paramount 
theme  of  her  dream  is  power  ! — such  power  as  will  permit 
the  renunciation  of  vengeance ;  such  power  as  will  jus 
tify  the  happiness  of  forgiving?  .  .  .  And  every 
dream  of  hers  is  a  dream  of  power ;  and,  often,  the  hap 
piness  of  forbearing  to  wield  it.  All  dreams  lead  to  it, 

238 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


all  mean  it;  for  instance,  half-awake,  then  faintly  con 
scious  in  slumber,  I  lie  dreaming  of  power — always 
power;  the  triumph  of  attainment,  of  desire  for  wis 
dom  and  knowledge  satisfied.  I  dream  of  friendships — 
wonderful  intimacies  exquisitely  satisfying ;  I  dream  of 
troubles,  and  my  moral  power  to  sweep  them  out  of  ex 
istence  ;  I  dream  of  self-sacrifice,  and  of  the  spiritual 
power  to  endure  it ;  I  dream — I  dream — sometimes — of 
more  material  power — of  splendours  and  imposing  es 
tates,  of  a  paradise  all  my  own.  And  when  I  have  been 
selfishly  happy  long  enough,  I  dream  of  a  vast  material 
power  fitting  me  to  wipe  poverty  from  the  world ;  I  plan 
it  out  in  splendid  generalities,  sometimes  in  minute 
detail.  ...  Of  men,  we  naturally  dream ;  but  vaguely, 
in  a  curious  and  confused  way.  .  .  .  Once,  when  I  was 
fourteen,  I  saw  a  volunteer  regiment  passing;  and  it 
halted  for  a  while  in  front  of  our  house ;  and  a  brilliant 
being  on  a  black  horse  turned  lazily  in  his  saddle  and 
glanced  up  at  our  window.  .  .  .  Captain  Selwyn,  it  is 
quite  useless  for  you  to  imagine  what  fairy  scenes,  what 
wondrous  perils,  what  happy  adventures  that  gilt- 
corded  adjutant  and  I  went  through  in  my  dreams. 
Marry  him?  Indeed  I  did,  scores  of  times.  Rescue 
him?  Regularly.  He  was  wounded,  he  was  attacked 
by  fevers  unnumbered,  he  fled  in  peril  of  his  life,  he 
vegetated  in  countless  prisons,  he  was  misunderstood, 
he  was  a  martyr  to  suspicion,  he  was  falsely  accused, 
falsely  condemned.  And  then,  just  before  the  worst  oc 
curred,  /  appear! — the  inevitable  I." 

She  dropped  back  into  the  chair,  laughing.  Her 
colour  was  high,  her  eyes  brilliant;  she  laid  her  arms 
along  the  velvet  arms  of  the  chair  and  looked  at  him. 

"  I've  not  had  you  to  talk  to  for  a  whole  week,"  she 
said;  "  and  you'll  let  me;  won't  you?  I  can't  help  it, 

239 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


anyway,  because  as  soon  as  I  see  you — crack!  a  million 
thoughts  wake  up  in  me  and  clipper-clapper  goes  my 
tongue.  .  .  .  You  are  very  good  for  me.  You  are  so 
thoroughly  satisfactory — except  when  your  eyes  nar 
row  in  that  dreadful  far-away  gaze — which  I've  forbid 
den,  you  understand.  .  .  .  What  have  you  done  to  your 
moustache?  " 

"  Clipped  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  it  too  short.  Can  you  get  hold  of 
it  to  pull  it?  It's  the  only  thing  that  helps  you  in  per 
plexity  to  solve  problems.  You'd  be  utterly  helpless, 
mentally,  without  your  moustache.  .  .  .  When  are  we 
to  take  up  our  Etruscan  symbols  again? — or  was  it 
Evans's  monograph  we  were  laboriously  dissecting? 
Certainly  it  was ;  don't  you  remember  the  Hittite  hiero 
glyph  of  Jerabis  ? — and  how  you  and  I  fought  over  those 
wretched  floral  symbols?  You  don't?  And  it  was  only 
a  week  ago?  .  .  .  And  listen!  Down  at  Silverside  I've 
been  reading  the  most  delicious  thing — the  Mimes  of 
Herodas ! — oh,  so  charmingly  quaint,  so  perfectly  hu 
man,  that  it  seems  impossible  that  they  were  written  two 
thousand  years  ago.  There's  a  maid,  in  one  scene, 
Threissa,  who  is  precisely  like  anybody's  maid — and  an 
old  lady,  Gyllis — perfectly  human,  and  not  Greek,  but 
Yankee  of  to-day !  Shall  we  reread  it  together  ? — when 
you  come  down  to  stay  with  us  at  Silverside?  " 

"  Indeed  we  shall,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  which  also  re 
minds  me " 

He  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  a  thin,  flat  box, 
turned  it  round  and  round,  glanced  at  her,  balancing 
it  teasingly  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"Is  it  for  me?  Really?  Oh,  please  don't  be  pro 
voking  !  Is  it  really  for  me  ?  Then  give  it  to  me  this 
instant !  " 

240 


I 


THE    UNEXPECTED 


He  dropped  the  box  into  the  pink  hollow  of  her  sup 
plicating  palms.  For  a  moment  she  was  very  busy  with 
the  tissue-paper;  then: 

"  Oh !  it  is  perfectly  sweet  of  you ! "  turning  the 
small  book  bound  in  heavy  Etruscan  gold ;  "  whatever 
can  it  be?  "  and,  rising,  she  opened  it,  stepping  to  the 
window  so  that  she  could  see. 

Within,  the  pages  were  closely  covered  with  the 
minute,  careful  handwriting  of  her  father ;  it  was  the 
first  note-book  he  ever  kept ;  and  Selwyn  had  had  it 
bound  for  her  in  gold. 

For  an  instant  she  gazed,  breathless,  lips  parted; 
then  slowly  she  placed  the  yellowed  pages  against  her 
lips  and,  turning,  looked  straight  at  Selwyn,  the  splen 
dour  of  her  young  eyes  starred  with  tears. 


CHAPTER    VII 

ERRANDS    AND    LETTERS 

ALIKE  RUTHVEN  had  not  yet  dared  tell  Selwyn  that 
her  visit  to  his  rooms  was  known  to  her  husband. 
Sooner  or  later  she  meant  to  tell  him ;  it  was  only  fair 
to  him  that  he  should  be  prepared  for  anything  that 
might  happen ;  but  as  yet,  though  her  first  instinct,  born 
of  sheer  fright,  urged  her  to  seek  instant  council  with 
Selwyn,  fear  of  him  was  greater  than  the  alarm  caused 
her  by  her  husband's  knowledge. 

She  was  now  afraid  of  her  husband's  malice,  afraid 
of  Selwyn's  opinion,  afraid  of  herself  most  of  all,  for 
she  understood  herself  well  enough  to  realise  that,  if  con 
ditions  became  intolerable,  the  first  and  easiest  course 
out  of  it  would  be  the  course  she'd  take — wherever  it 
led,  whatever  it  cost,  or  whoever  was  involved. 

In  addition  to  her  dread  and  excitement,  she  was 
deeply  chagrined  and  unhappy;  and,  although  Jack 
Ruthven  did  not  again  refer  to  the  matter — indeed  ap 
peared  to  have  forgotten  it — her  alarm  and  humiliation 
remained  complete,  for  Gerald  now  came  and  played 
and  went  as  he  chose ;  and  in  her  disconcerted  cowardice 
she  dared  not  do  more  than  plead  with  Gerald  in  secret, 
until  she  began  to  find  the  emotion  consequent  upon  such 
intimacy  unwise  for  them  both. 

Neergard,  too,  was  becoming  a  familiar  figure  in 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

her  drawing-room;  and,  though  at  first  she  detested 
him,  his  patience  and  unfailing  good  spirits,  and  his 
unconcealed  admiration  for  her  softened  her  manner 
toward  him  to  the  point  of  toleration. 

And  Neergard,  from  his  equivocal  footing  in  the 
house  of  Ruthven,  obtained  another  no  less  precarious 
in  the  house  of  Fane — all  in  the  beginning  on  a  purely 
gaming  basis.  However,  Gerald  had  already  proposed 
him  for  the  Stuyvesant  and  Proscenium  clubs ;  and,  fur 
thermore,  a  stormy  discussion  was  now  in  progress 
among  the  members  of  the  famous  Siowitha  over 
an  amazing  proposition  from  their  treasurer,  Jack 
Ruthven. 

This  proposal  was  nothing  less  than  to  admit  Neer 
gard  to  membership  in  that  wealthy  and  exclusive  coun 
try  club,  as  a  choice  of  the  lesser  evil ;  for  it  appeared, 
according  to  Ruthven,  that  Neergard,  if  admitted,  was 
willing  to  restore  to  the  club,  free  of  rent,  the  thousands 
of  acres  vitally  necessary  to  the  club's  existence  as  a 
game  preserve,  merely  retaining  the  title  to  these  lands 
for  himself. 

Draymore  was  incensed  at  the  proposal,  Harmon, 
Orchil,  and  Fane  were  disgustedly  non-committal,  but 
Phoenix  Mottly  was  perhaps  the  angriest  man  on  Long 
Island. 

"  In  the  name  of  decency,  Jack,"  he  said,  "  what 
are  you  dreaming  of?  Is  it  not  enough  that  this  man, 
Neergard,  holds  us  up  once?  Do  I  understand  that  he 
has  the  impudence  to  do  it  again  with  your  connivance? 
Are  you  going  to  let  him  sandbag  us  into  electing  him  ? 
Is  that  the  sort  of  hold-up  you  stand  for?  Well,  then, 
I  tell  you  I'll  never  vote  for  him.  I'd  rather  see  these 
lakes  and  streams  of  ours  dry  up ;  I'd  rather  see  the  last 
pheasant  snared  and  the  last  covey  leave  for  the  other 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


end  of  the  island,  than  buy  off  that  Dutchman  with  a 
certificate  of  membership  in  the  Siowitha !  " 

"In  that  case,"  retorted  Ruthven,  "we'd  better 
wind  up  our  affairs  and  make  arrangements  for  an  auc 
tioneer." 

"  All  right ;  wind  up  and  be  damned !  "  said  Mottly  ; 
"  there'll  be  at  least  sufficient  self-respect  left  in  the 
treasury  to  go  round." 

Which  was  all  very  fine,  and  Mottly  meant  it  at  the 
time ;  but,  outside  of  the  asset  of  self-respect,  there  was 
too  much  money  invested  in  the  lands,  plant,  and  build 
ings,  in  the  streams,  lakes,  hatcheries,  and  forests  of 
the  Siowitha.  The  enormously  wealthy  seldom  stand 
long  upon  dignity  if  that  dignity  is  going  to  be  very 
expensive.  Only  the  poor  can  afford  disastrous  self- 
respect. 

So  the  chances  were  that  Neergard  would  become  a 
member — which  was  why  he  had  acquired  the  tract — 
and  the  price  he  would  have  to  pay  was  not  only  in  taxes 
upon  the  acreage,  but,  secretly,  a  solid  sum  in  addition 
to  little  Mr.  Ruthven  whom  he  was  binding  to  him  by 
every  tie  he  could  pay  for. 

Neergard  did  not  regret  the  expense.  He  had  long 
since  discounted  the  cost ;  and  he  also  continued  to  lose 
money  at  the  card-table  to  those  who  could  do  him  the 
most  good. 

Away  somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  round,  squat, 
busy  head  he  had  an  inkling  that  some  day  he  would 
even  matters  with  some  people.  Meanwhile  he  was  pa 
tient,  good-humoured,  amusing  when  given  a  chance, 
and,  as  the  few  people  he  knew  found  out,  inventive  and 
resourceful  in  suggesting  new  methods  of  time-killing 
to  any  wealthy  and  fashionable  victim  of  a  vacant  mind. 

And  as  this  faculty  has  always  been  the  real  key  to 
244 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

the  inner  Temple  of  the  Ten  Thousand  Disenchant- 
ments,  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Neergard  appeared  to  be 
only  a  matter  of  time  and  opportunity,  and  his  ultimate 
welcome  at  the  naked  altar  a  conclusion  foregone. 

In  the  interim,  however,  he  suffered  Gerald  and 
little  Ruthven  to  pilot  him ;  he  remained  cheerfully  ob 
livious  to  the  snubs  and  indifference  accorded  him  by 
Mrs.  Ruthven,  Mrs.  Fane,  and  others  of  their  entourage 
whom  he  encountered  over  the  card-tables  or  at  card- 
suppers.  And  all  the  while  he  was  attending  to  his 
business  with  an  energy  and  activity  that  ought  to  have 
shamed  Gerald,  and  did,  at  times,  particularly  when  he 
arrived  at  the  office  utterly  unfit  for  the  work  before 
him. 

But  Neergard  continued  astonishingly  tolerant  and 
kind,  lending  him  money,  advancing  him  what  he  re 
quired,  taking  up  or  renewing  notes  for  him,  until  the 
boy,  heavily  in  his  debt,  plunged  more  heavily  still  in 
sheer  desperation,  only  to  flounder  the  deeper  at  every 
struggle  to  extricate  himself. 

Alixe  Ruthven  suspected  something  of  this,  but  it 
was  useless  as  well  as  perilous  in  other  ways  for  her  to 
argue  with  Gerald,  for  the  boy  had  come  to  a  point 
where  even  his  devotion  to  her  could  not  stop  him.  He 
must  go  on.  He  did  not  say  so  to  Alixe ;  he  merely 
laughed,  assuring  her  that  he  was  all  right;  that  he 
knew  how  much  he  could  afford  to  lose,  and  that  he 
would  stop  when  his  limit  was  in  sight.  Alas,  he  had 
passed  his  limit  long  since ;  and  already  it  was  so  far 
behind  him  that  he  dared  not  look  back — dared  no 
longer  even  look  forward. 

Meanwhile  the  Ruthvens  were  living  almost  lav 
ishly,  and  keeping  four  more  horses ;  but  Eileen  Er- 
rolTs  bank  balance  had  now  dwindled  to  three  figures; 

245 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  Gerald  had  not  only  acted  offensively  toward  Sel- 
wyn,  but  had  quarrelled  so  violently  with  Austin  that 
the  latter,  thoroughly  incensed  and  disgusted,  threat 
ened  to  forbid  him  the  house. 

"  The  little  fool !  "  he  said  to  Selwyn,  "  came  here 
last  night,  stinking  of  wine,  and  attempted  to  lay  down 
the  law  to  me ! — tried  to  dragoon  me  into  a  compromise 
with  him  over  the  investments  I  have  made  for  him.  By 
God,  Phil,  he  shall  not  control  one  cent  until  the  trust 
conditions  are  fulfilled,  though  it  was  left  to  my  discre 
tion,  too.  And  I  told  him  so  flatly ;  I  told  him  he  wasn't 
fit  to  be  trusted  with  the  coupons  of  a  repudiated  South 
American  bond " 

"  Hold  on,  Austin.  That  isn't  the  way  to  tackle  a 
boy  like  that  \  " 

"Isn't  it?  Well,  why  not?  Do  you  expect  me  to 
dicker  with  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  but,  Austin,  you've  always  been  a  little 
brusque  with  him.  Don't  you  think " 

"  No,  I  don't.  It's  discipline  he  needs,  and  he'll  get 
it  good  and  plenty  every  time  he  comes  here." 

"  I — I'm  afraid  he  may  cease  coming  here.  That's 
the  worst  of  it.  For  his  sister's  sake  I  think  we  ought 
to  try  to  put  up  with " 

"  Put  up !  Put  up !  I've  been  doing  nothing  else 
since  he  came  of  age.  He's  turned  out  a  fool  of  a 
puppy,  I  tell  you ;  he's  idle,  lazy,  dissipated,  impudent, 
conceited,  insufferable " 

"  But  not  vicious,  Austin,  and  not  untruthful. 
Where  his  affections  are  centred  he  is  always  generous ; 
where  they  should  be  centred  he  is  merely  thoughtless, 
not  deliberately  selfish " 

"  See  here,  Phil,  how  much  good  has  your  molly 
coddling  done  him?  You  warned  him  to  be  cautious  in 

246 


ERRANDS  AND   LETTERS 

his  intimacy  with  Neergard,  and  he  was  actually  insult 
ing  to  you " 

"  I  know ;  but  I  understood.  He  probably  had  some 
vague  idea  of  loyalty  to  a  man  whom  he  had  known 
longer  than  he  knew  me.  That  was  all;  that  was  what 
I  feared,  too.  But  it  had  to  be  done — I  was  determined 
to  venture  it ;  and  it  seems  I  accomplished  nothing.  But 
don't  think  that  Gerald's  attitude  toward  me  makes  any 
difference,  Austin.  It  doesn't;  I'm  just  as  devoted  to 
the  boy,  just  as  sorry  for  him,  just  as  ready  to  step  in 
when  the  chance  comes,  as  it  surely  will,  Austin.  He's 
only  running  a  bit  wilder  than  the  usual  colt;  it  takes 
longer  to  catch  and  bridle  him " 

"  Somebody'll  rope  him  pretty  roughly  before  you 
run  him  down,"  said  Gerard. 

"  I  hope  not.  Of  course  it's  a  chance  he  takes,  and 
we  can't  help  it ;  but  I'm  trying  to  believe  he'll  tire  out 
in  time  and  come  back  to  us  for  his  salt.  And,  Austin, 
we've  simply  got  to  believe  in  him,  you  know — on  Eileen's 
account." 

Austin  grew  angrier  and  redder: 

"Eileen's  account?  Do  you  mean  her  bank  ac 
count  ?  It's  easy  enough  to  believe  in  him  if  you  inspect 
his  sister's  bank  account.  Believe  in  him?  Oh,  certainly 
I  do ;  I  believe  he's  pup  enough  to  come  sneaking  to  his 
sister  to  pay  for  all  the  damfooleries  he's  engaged  in. 
.  .  .  And  I've  positively  forbidden  her  to  draw  another 
check  to  his  order " 

"  It's  that  little  bangled  whelp,  Ruthven,"  said  Sel- 
wyn  between  his  teeth.  "  I  warned  Gerald  most  sol 
emnly  of  that  man,  but — "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  glanced  about  him  at  the  linen-covered  furniture 
and  bare  floors.  After  a  moment  he  looked  up :  "  The 
game  there  is  of  course  notorious.  I — if  matters  did 
17  247 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


not  stand  as  they  do  " —  he  flushed  painfully — "  I'd  go 
straight  to  Ruthven  and  find  out  whether  or  not  this 
business  could  be  stopped." 

"  Stopped  ?  No,  it  can't  be.  How  are  you  going  to 
stop  a  man  from  playing  cards  in  his  own  house  ?  They 
all  do  it — that  sort.  Fane's  rather  notorious  himself; 
they  call  his  house  the  house  of  ill-Fane,  you  know.  If 
you  or  I  or  any  of  our  family  were  on  any  kind  of  terms 
with  the  Ruthvens,  they  might  exclude  Gerald  to  oblige 
us.  We  are  not,  however ;  and,  anyway,  if  Gerald  means 
to  make  a  gambler  and  a  souse  of  himself  at  twenty-one, 
he'll  do  it.  But  it's  pretty  rough  on  us." 

"  It's  rougher  on  him,  Austin ;  and  it's  roughest  on 
his  sister.  Well  " — he  held  out  his  hand — "  good-bye. 
No,  thanks,  I  won't  stop  to  see  Nina  and  Eileen ;  I'm 
going  to  try  to  think  up  some  way  out  of  this.  And — 
if  Gerald  comes  to  you  again — try  another  tack — just 
try  it.  You  know,  old  fellow,  that,  between  ourselves, 
you  and  I  are  sometimes  short  of  temper  and  long  of 
admonition.  Let's  try  reversing  the  combination  with 
Gerald." 

But  Austin  only  growled  from  the  depths  of  his 
linen-shrouded  arm-chair,  and  Selwyn  turned  away, 
wondering  what  in  the  world  he  could  do  in  a  matter 
already  far  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  either  Austin  or 
himself. 

If  Alixe  had  done  her  best  to  keep  Gerald  away,  she 
appeared  to  be  quite  powerless  in  the  matter ;  and  it  was 
therefore  useless  to  go  to  her.  Besides,  he  had  every  in 
clination  to  avoid  her.  He  had  learned  his  lesson. 

To  whom  then  could  he  go?  Through  whom  could 
he  reach  Gerald?  Through  Nina?  Useless.  And  Ger 
ald  had  already  defied  Austin.  Through  Neergard, 
then?  But  he  was  on  no  terms  with  Neergard;  how 

248 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

could  he  go  to  him?  Through  Rosamund  Fane?  At 
the  thought  he  made  a  wry  face.  Any  advances  from 
him  she  would  wilfully  misinterpret.  And  Ruthven? 
How  on  earth  could  he  bring  himself  to  approach  him? 

And  the  problem  therefore  remained  as  it  was ;  the 
only  chance  of  any  solution  apparently  depending  upon 
these  friends  of  Gerald's,  not  one  of  whom  was  a  friend 
of  Selwyn ;  indeed  some  among  them  were  indifferent  to 
the  verge  of  open  enmity. 

And  yet  he  had  promised  Eileen  to  do  what  he  could. 
What  merit  lay  in  performing  an  easy  obligation? 
What  courage  was  required  to  keep  a  promise  easily 
kept?  If  he  cared  anything  for  her — if  he  really  cared 
for  Gerald,  he  owed  them  more  than  effortless  fulfil 
ment.  And  here  there  could  be  no  fulfilment  without 
effort,  without  the  discarding  from  self  of  the  last  rags 
of  pride.  And  even  then,  what  hope  was  there — after 
the  sacrifice  of  self  and  the  disregard  of  almost  certain 
humiliation  ? 

It  was  horribly  hard  for  him;  there  seemed  to  be 
no  chance  in  sight.  But  forlorn  hope  was  slowly  rous 
ing  the  soldier  in  him — the  grim,  dogged,  desperate 
necessity  of  doing  his  duty  to  the  full  and  of  leaving 
consequences  to  that  Destiny,  which  some  call  by  a  name 
more  reverent. 

So  first  of  all,  when  at  length  he  had  decided,  he 
nerved  himself  to  strike  straight  at  the  centre;  and 
within  the  hour  he  found  Gerald  at  the  Stuy vesant  Club. 

The  boy  descended  to  the  visitors'  rooms,  Selwyn's 
card  in  his  hand  and  distrust  written  on  every  feature. 
And  at  Selwyn's  first  frank  and  friendly  words  he  red 
dened  to  the  temples  and  checked  him. 

"  I  won't  listen,"  he  said.  "  They — Austin  and — 
and  everybody  have  been  putting  you  up  to  this  until 

249 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I'm  tired  of  it.  Do  they  think  I'm  a  baby?  Do  they 
suppose  I  don't  know  enough  to  take  care  of  myself? 
Are  they  trying  to  make  me  ridiculous?  I  tell  you 
they'd  better  let  me  alone.  My  friends  are  my  friends, 
and  I  won't  listen  to  any  criticism  of  them,  and  that 
settles  it." 

"  Gerald " 

"  Oh,  I  know  perfectly  well  that  you  dislike  Neer- 
gard.  I  don't,  and  that's  the  difference." 

"  I'm  not  speaking  of  Mr.  Neergard,  Gerald ;  I'm 
only  trying  to  tell  you  what  this  man  Ruthven  really 
is  doing " 

"  What  do  I  care  what  he  is  doing ! "  cried  Gerald 
angrily.  "  And,  anyway,  it  isn't  likely  I'd  come  to  you 
to  find  out  anything  about  Mrs.  Ruthven's  second  hus 
band!" 

Selwyn  rose,  very  white  and  still.  After  a  moment 
he  drew  a  quiet  breath,  his  clinched  hands  relaxed,  and 
he  picked  up  his  hat  and  gloves. 

"  They  are  my  friends,"  muttered  Gerald,  as  pale 
as  he.  "  You  drove  me  into  speaking  that  way." 

"  Perhaps  I  did,  my  boy.  ...  I  don't  judge  you. 
.  .  .  If  you  ever  find  you  need  help,  come  to  me;  and 
if  you  can't  come,  and  still  need  me,  send  for  me.  I'll 
do  what  I  can — always.  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself.  Good-bye." 

He  turned  to  the  door;  and  Gerald  burst  out: 
"Why  can't  you  let  my  friends  alone?  I  liked  you 
before  you  began  this  sort  of  thing !  " 

"I  will  let  them  alone  if  you  will,"  said  Selwyn, 
halting.  "  I  can't  stand  by  and  see  you  exploited  and 
used  and  perverted.  Will  you  give  me  one  chance  to 
talk  it  over,  Gerald?" 

"  No,  I  wont !  "  returned  Gerald  hotly ;  "  I'll  stand 
250 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 


for  my  friends  every  time!     There's  no  treachery  in 


i  » 


me: 

"  You  are  not  standing  by  me  very  fast,"  said  the 
elder  man  gently. 

"  I  said  I  was  standing  by  my  friends !  "  repeated 
the  boy. 

"  Very  well,  Gerald ;  but  it's  at  the  expense  of  your 
own  people,  I'm  afraid." 

"  That's  my  business,  and  you're  not  one  of  'em !  " 
retorted  the  boy,  infuriated ;  "  and  you  won't  be,  either, 
if  I  can  prevent  it,  no  matter  whether  people  say  that 
you're  engaged  to  her " 

"  What !  "  whispered  Selwyn,  wheeling  like  a  flash. 
The  last  vestige  of  colour  had  fled  from  his  face;  and 
Gerald  caught  his  breath,  almost  blinded  by  the  blaze 
of  fury  in  the  elder  man's  eyes. 

Neither  spoke  again ;  and  after  a  moment  Selwyn's 
eyes  fell,  he  turned  heavily  on  his  heel  and  walked  away, 
head  bent,  gray  eyes  narrowing  to  slits. 

Yet,  through  the  brain's  chaos  and  the  heart's  loud 
tumult  and  the  clamour  of  pulses  run  wild  at  the  insult 
flung  into  his  very  face,  the  grim  instinct  to  go  on  per 
sisted.  And  he  went  on,  and  on,  for  her  sake — on — he 
knew  not  how — until  he  came  to  Neergard's  apartment 
in  one  of  the  vast  West-Side  constructions,  bearing  the 
name  of  a  sovereign  state ;  and  here,  after  an  interval, 
he  followed  his  card  to  Neergard's  splendid  suite,  where 
a  man-servant  received  him  and  left  him  seated  by  a 
sunny  window  overlooking  the  blossoming  foliage  of  the 
Park. 

When  Neergard  came  in,  and  stood  on  the  farther 
side  of  a  big  oak  table,  Selwyn  rose,  returning  the  cool, 
curt  nod. 

"  Mr.  Neergard,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  easy  for  me 
251 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


to  come  here  after  what  I  said  to  you  when  I  severed  my 
connection  with  your  firm.  You  have  every  reason  to  be 
unfriendly  toward  me;  but  I  came  on  the  chance  that 
whatever  resentment  you  may  feel  will  not  prevent  you 
from  hearing  me  out." 

"  Personal  resentment,"  said  Neergard  slowly, 
"  never  interferes  with  my  business.  I  take  it,  of 
course,  that  you  have  called  upon  a  business  matter. 
Will  you  sit  down?" 

"  Thank  you ;  I  have  only  a  moment.  And  what  I 
am  here  for  is  to  ask  you,  as  Mr.  Er roll's  friend,  to  use 
your  influence  on  Mr.  Erroll — every  atom  of  your  in 
fluence — to  prevent  him  from  ruining  himself  financially 
through  his  excesses.  I  ask  you,  for  his  family's  sake, 
to  discountenance  any  more  gambling;  to  hold  him 
strictly  to  his  duties  in  your  office,  to  overlook  no  more 
shortcomings  of  his,  but  to  demand  from  him  what  any 
trained  business  man  demands  of  his  associates  as  well 
as  of  his  employees.  I  ask  this  for  the  boy's  sake." 

Neergard's  close-set  eyes  focussed  a  trifle  closer  to 
Selwyn's,  yet  did  not  meet  them. 

"  Mr.  Selwyn,"  he  said,  "  have  you  come  here  to 
criticise  the  conduct  of  my  business?  " 

"  Criticise !   No,  I  have  not.   I  merely  ask  you " 

"  You  are  merely  asking  me,"  cut  in  Neergard,  "  to 
run  my  office,  my  clerks,  and  my  associate  in  business 
after  some  theory  of  your  own." 

Selwyn  looked  at  the  man  and  knew  he  had  lost ;  yet 
he  forced  himself  to  go  on : 

"  The  boy  regards  you  as  his  friend.  Could  you 
not,  as  his  friend,  discourage  his  increasing  tendency 
toward  dissipation " 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  he  is  dissipated." 

"What!" 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

"  I  say  that  I  am  not  aware  that  Gerald  requires 
any  interference  from  me — or  from  you,  either,"  said 
Neergard  coolly.  "  And  as  far  as  that  goes,  I  and  my 
business  require  no  interference  either.  And  I  believe 
that  settles  it." 

He  touched  a  button ;  the  man-servant  appeared  to 
usher  Selwyn  out. 

The  latter  set  his  teeth  in  his  under  lip  and  looked 
straight  and  hard  at  Neergard,  but  Neergard  thrust 
both  hands  in  his  pockets,  turned  squarely  on  his  heel, 
and  sauntered  out  of  the  room,  yawning  as  he  went. 

It  bid  fair  to  become  a  hard  day  for  Selwyn ;  he 
foresaw  it,  for  there  was  more  for  him  to  do,  and  the 
day  was  far  from  ended,  and  his  self-restraint  was 
nearly  exhausted ! 

An  hour  later  he  sent  his  card  in  to  Rosamund  Fane ; 
and  Rosamund  came  down,  presently,  mystified,  flat 
tered,  yet  shrewdly  alert  and  prepared  for  anything 
since  the  miracle  of  his  coming  justified  such  prepara 
tion. 

"  Why  in  the  world,"  she  said  with  a  flushed  gaiety 
perfectly  genuine,  "  did  you  ever  come  to  see  me?  Will 
you  please  sit  here,  rather  near  me  ? — or  I  shall  not  dare 
believe  that  you  are  that  same  Captain  Selwyn  who  once 
was  so  deliciously  rude  to  me  at  the  Minster's  dance." 

"  Was  there  not  a  little  malice — just  a  very  little — 
on  your  part  to  begin  it?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"Malice?  Why?  Just  because  I  wanted  to  see 
how  you  and  Alixe  Ruthven  would  behave  when  thrust 
into  each  other's  arms?  Oh,  Captain  Selwyn — what  a 
harmless  little  jest  of  mine  to  evoke  all  that  bitterness 
you  so  smilingly  poured  out  on  me!  ...  But  I  for 
gave  you;  I'll  forgive  you  more  than  that — if  you 
ask  me.  Do  you  know  " — and  she  laid  her  small  head 

253 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


on  one  side  and  smiled  at  him  out  of  her  pretty  doll's 
eyes — "  do  you  know  that  there  are  very  few  things 
I  might  not  be  persuaded  to  pardon  you  ?  Perhaps  " — 
with  laughing  audacity — "  there  are  not  any  at  all. 
Try,  if  you  please." 

"  Then  you  surely  will  forgive  me  for  what  I  have 
come  to  ask  you,"  he  said  lightly.  "  Won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  her  pink-and-white  prettiness 
challenging  him  from  every  delicate  feature — "  yes — 
I  will  pardon  you — on  one  condition." 

"And  what  is  that,  Mrs.  Fane?" 

"  That  you  are  going  to  ask  me  something  quite 
unpardonable !  "  she  said  with  a  daring  little  laugh. 
"  For  if  it's  anything  less  improper  than  an  impro 
priety  I  won't  forgive  you.  Besides,  there'd  be  noth 
ing  to  forgive.  So  please  begin,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  It's  only  this,"  he  said :  "  I  am  wondering 
whether  you  would  do  anything  for  me  ?  " 

"  A  nothing !  Mercil  Isn't  that  extremely  gen 
eral,  Captain  Selwyn?  But  you  never  can  tell;  ask 
me." 

So  he  bent  forward,  his  clasped  hands  between 
his  knees,  and  told  her  very  earnestly  of  his  fears 
about  Gerald,  asking  her  to  use  her  undoubted  in 
fluence  with  the  boy  to  shame  him  from  the  card- tables, 
explaining  how  utterly  disastrous  to  him  and  his 
family  his  present  course  was. 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  you,  Mrs.  Fane — and  you 
know  how  easy  it  is  for  a  boy  to  be  laughed  out 
of  excesses  by  a  pretty  woman  of  experience.  You 
see  I  am  desperately  put  to  it  or  I  would  never  have 
ventured  to  trouble  you " 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  out  of  eyes 
bright  with  disappointment. 

254 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

"Could  you  help  us,  then?"  he  asked  pleasantly. 

"  Help  us,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  Who  is  the  '  us,' 
please?" 

"  Why,  Gerald  and  me — and  his  family,"  he  added, 
meeting  her  eyes.  The  eyes  began  to  dance  with 
malice. 

"  His  family,"  repeated  Rosamund ;  "  that  is  to 
say,  his  sister,  Miss  Erroll.  His  family,  I  believe,  ends 
there ;  does  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Fane." 

"  I  see.  .  .  .  Miss  Erroll  is  naturally  worried  over 
him.  But  I  wonder  why  she  did  not  come  to  me 
herself  instead  of  sending  you  as  her  errant  ambas 
sador?  " 

"  Miss  Erroll  did  not  send  me,"  he  said,  flushing 
up.  And,  looking  steadily  into  the  smiling  doll's  face 
confronting  him,  he  knew  again  that  he  had  failed. 

"  I  am  not  inclined  to  be  very  much  flattered  after 
all,"  said  Rosamund.  "  You  should  have  come  on  your 
own  errand,  Captain  Selwyn,  if  you  expected  a  woman 
to  listen  to  you.  Did  you  not  know  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  errands  or  of  flattery," 
he  said  wearily ;  "  I  thought  you  might  care  to  in 
fluence  a  boy  who  is  headed  for  serious  trouble — that  is 
all,  Mrs.  Fane." 

She  smiled :  "  Come  to  me  on  your  own  errand — 
for  Gerald's  sake,  for  anybody's  sake — for  your  own, 
preferably,  and  I'll  listen.  But  don't  come  to  me  on 
another  woman's  errands,  for  I  won't  listen — even  to 
you." 

'"  I  have  come  on  my  own  errand !  "  he  repeated 
coldly.  "  Miss  Erroll  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  shall 
not  hear  of  it  from  me.  Can  you  not  help  me,  Mrs. 
Fane?" 

255 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


But  Rosamund's  rose-china  features  had  hardened 
into  a  polished  smile;  and  Selwyn  stood  up,  wearily, 
to  make  his  adieux. 

But,  as  he  entered  his  hansom  before  the  door,  he 
knew  the  end  was  not  yet ;  and  once  more  he  set  his 
face  toward  the  impossible ;  and  once  more  the  hansom 
rolled  away  over  the  asphalt,  and  once  more  it  stopped 
— this  time  before  the  house  of  Ruthven. 

Every  step  he  took  now  was  taken  through  sheer 
force  of  will — and  in  Tier  service;  because,  had  it  been, 
now,  only  for  Gerald's  sake,  he  knew  he  must  have 
weakened — and  properly,  perhaps,  for  a  man  owes 
something  to  himself.  But  what  he  was  now  doing 
was  for  a  young  girl  who  trusted  him  with  all  the 
fervour  and  faith  of  her  heart  and  soul;  and  he  could 
spare  himself  in  nowise  if,  in  his  turn,  he  responded 
heart  and  soul  to  the  solemn  appeal. 

Mr.  Ruthven,  it  appeared,  was  at  home  and  would 
receive  Captain  Selwyn  in  his  own  apartment. 

Which  he  did — after  Selwyn  had  been  seated  for 
twenty  minutes — strolling  in  clad  only  in  silken  loung 
ing  clothes,  and  belting  about  his  waist,  as  he  entered, 
the  sash  of  a  kimona,  stiff  with  gold. 

His  greeting  was  a  pallid  stare;  but,  as  Selwyn 
made  no  motion  to  rise,  he  lounged  over  to  a  couch 
and,  half  reclining  among  the  cushions,  shot  an  in 
solent  glance  at  Selwyn,  then  yawned  and  examined 
the  bangles  on  his  wrist. 

After  a  moment  Selwyn  said :  "  Mr.  Ruthven,  you 
are  no  doubt  surprised  that  I  am  here " 

"  I'm  not  surprised  if  it's  my  wife  you've  come 
to  see,"  drawled  Ruthven.  "  If  I'm  the  object  of  your 
visit,  I  confess  to  some  surprise — as  much  as  the  visit 
is  worth,  and  no  more." 

256 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

The  vulgarity  of  the  insult  under  the  man's  own 
roof  scarcely  moved  Selwyn  to  any  deeper  contempt, 
and  certainly  not  to  anger. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  ask  a  favour  of  you," 
he  said  coolly — "  for  that  is  out  of  the  question,  Mr. 
Ruthven.  But  I  came  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Erroll's 
family  has  forbidden  him  to  continue  his  gambling 
in  this  house  and  in  your  company  anywhere  or  at  any 
time." 

"  Most  extraordinary,"  murmured  Ruthven,  pass 
ing  his  ringed  fingers  over  his  minutely  shaven  face — • 
that  strange  face  of  a  boy  hardened  by  the  depravity 
of  ages. 

"  So  I  must  request  you,"  continued  Selwyn,  "  to 
refuse  him  the  opportunity  of  gambling  here.  Will 
you  do  it — voluntarily  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  shall  use  my  judgment  in  the  matter." 

"  And  what  may  your  judgment  in  the  matter  be?  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  decided ;  for  one  thing  I  might 
enter  a  complaint  with  the  police  that  a  boy  is  being 
morally  and  materially  ruined  in  your  private  gam 
bling  establishment." 

"Is  that  a  threat?" 

"  No.     I  will  act,  not  threaten." 

"  Ah,"  drawled  Ruthven,  "  I  may  do  the  same  the 
next  time  my  wife  spends  the  evening  in  your  apart 
ment." 

"  You  lie,"  said  Selwyn  in  a  voice  made  low  by 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't.  Very  chivalrous  of  you — quite 
proper  for  you  to  deny  it  like  a  gentleman — but 
useless,  quite  useless.  So  the  less  said  about  invoking 
the  law,  the  better  for — some  people.  You'll  agree 

257 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


with  me,  I  dare  say.  .  .  .  And  now,  concerning  your 
friend,  Gerald  Erroll — I  have  not  the  slightest  desire 
to  see  him  play  cards.  Whether  or  not  he  plays  is 
a  matter  perfectly  indifferent  to  me,  and  you  had 
better  understand  it.  But  if  you  come  here  demand 
ing  that  I  arrange  my  guest-lists  to  suit  you,  you 
are  losing  time." 

Selwyn,  almost  stunned  at  Ruthven's  knowledge  of 
the  episode  in  his  rooms,  had  risen  as  he  gave  the  man 
the  lie  direct. 

For  an  instant,  now,  as  he  stared  at  him,  there 
was  murder  in  his  eye.  Then  the  utter  hopeless  help 
lessness  of  his  position  overwhelmed  him,  as  Ruthven, 
with  danger  written  all  over  him,  stood  up,  his  soft 
smooth  thumbs  hooked  in  the  glittering  sash  of  his 
kimona. 

"  Scowl  if  you  like,"  he  said,  backing  away  instinc 
tively,  but  still  nervously  impertinent ;  "  and  keep  your 
distance!  If  you've  anything  further  to  say  to  me, 
write  it."  Then,  growing  bolder  as  Selwyn  made  no 
offensive  move,  "  Write  to  me,"  he  repeated  with  a  ven 
omous  smirk ;  "  it's  safer  for  you  to  figure  as  my  cor 
respondent  than  as  my  wife's  co-respondent —  L-let 
go  of  me!  W-what  the  devil  are  you  d-d-doing " 

For  Selwyn  had  him  fast — one  sinewy  hand  twisted 
in  his  silken  collar,  holding  him  squirming  at  arm's 
length. 

"  M-murder !  "   stammered  Mr.   Ruthven. 

"  No,"  said  Selwyn,  "  not  this  time.  But  be  very, 
very  careful  after  this." 

And  he  let  him  go  with  an  involuntary  shudder, 
and  wiped  his  hands  on  his  handkerchief. 

Ruthven  stood  quite  still;  and  after  a  moment  the 
livid  terror  died  out  in  his  face  and  a  rushing  flush 

258 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

spread  over  it — a  strange,  dreadful  shade,  curiously 
opaque ;  and  he  half  turned,  dizzily,  hands  outstretched 
for  self-support. 

Selwyn  coolly  watched  him  as  he  sank  on  to  the 
couch  and  sat  huddled  together  and  leaning  forward, 
his  soft,  ringed  fingers  covering  his  impurpled  face. 

Then  Selwyn  went  away  with  a  shrug  of  utter 
loathing;  but  after  he  had  gone,  and  Ruthven's  ser 
vants  had  discovered  him  and  summoned  a  physician, 
their  master  lay  heavily  amid  his  painted  draperies 
and  cushions,  his  congested  features  set,  his  eyes  partly 
open  and  possessing  sight,  but  the  whites  of  them 
had  disappeared  and  the  eyes  themselves,  save  for  the 
pupils,  were  like  two  dark  slits  filled  with  blood. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it;  the  doctors,  one 
and  all,  knew  their  business  when  they  had  so  often 
cautioned  Mr.  Ruthven  to  avoid  sudden  and  excessive 
emotions. 

/ 

That  night  Selwyn  wrote  -briefly  to  Mrs.  Ruthven : 

"  I  saw  your  husband  this  afternoon.  He  is  at 
liberty  to  inform  you  of  what  passed.  But  in  case 
he  does  not,  there  is  one  detail  which  you  ought  to 
know:  your  husband  believes  that  you  once  paid  a 
visit  to  my  apartments.  It  is  unlikely  that  he  will 
repeat  the  accusation  and  i  think  there  is  no  oc 
casion  for  you  to  worry.  However,  it  is  only  proper 
that  you  should  know  this — which  is  my  only  excuse 
for  writing  you  a  letter  that  requires  no  acknowledg 
ment.  Very  truly  yours, 

"PHILIP  SELWYN." 

To  this  letter  she  wrote  an  excited  and  somewhat 
incoherent  reply;  and  rereading  it  in  troubled  sur- 

259 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


prise,  he  began  to  recognise  in  it  something  of  the 
strange,  illogical,  impulsive  attitude  which  had  con 
fronted  him  in  the  first  weeks  of  his  wedded  life. 

Here  was  the  same  minor  undertone  of  unrest 
sounding  ominously  through  every  line;  the  same 
illogical,  unhappy  attitude  which  implied  so  much  and 
said  so  little,  leaving  him  uneasy  and  disconcerted,  con 
scious  of  the  vague  recklessness  and  veiled  reproach — 
dragging  him  back  from  the  present  through  the  dead 
years  to  confront  once  more  the  old  pain,  the  old 
bewilderment  at  the  hopeless  misunderstanding  be 
tween  them. 

He  wrote  in  answer: 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  going  to 
write  you  some  unpleasant  trjuths.  I  cannot  compre 
hend  what  you  have  written  £l  cannot  interpret  what 
you  evidently  imagine  I  muHxdivine  in  these  pages — 
yet,  as  I  read,  striving,  t^  Understand,  all  the  old 
familiar  pain  returns — r^j  jfopele^s  attempt  to  realise 
wherein  I  failed  in  what  y&l  expected  of  me. 

"  But  how  can  I,  nxjw,  b,e  held  responsible  for  your 
unhappiness  and  umsest^wr  the  malicious  attitude,  as 
you  call  it,  of  the  W|^Nibward  you?  Years  ago  you 
felt  that  there  existeoteome  occult  coalition  against  you, 
and  that  I  was  eitl^rpw'vy  to  it  or  indifferent.  I  was 
not  indifferent,  but  I  did  not  believe  there  existed  any 
reason  for  your  suspicions.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  my  failure  to  understand  you ;  I  was  sensible  enough 
that  we  were  unhappy,  yet  could  not  see  any  reason 
for  it — could  see  no  reason  for  the  increasing  rest 
lessness  and  discontent  which  came  over  you  like  suc 
cessive  waves  following  some  brief  happy  interval  when 
your  gaiety  and  beauty  and  wit  fairly  dazzled  me  and 

260 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

everybody  who  came  near  you.  And  then,  always 
hateful  and  irresistible,  followed  the  days  of  depres 
sion,  of  incomprehensible  impulses,  of  that  strange  un 
reasoning  resentment  toward  me. 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  I  don't  for  a  moment  say 
that  there  was  nothing  I  might  have  done.  Certainly 
there  must  have  been  something;  but  I  did  not  know 
what.  And  often  in  my  confusion  and  bewilderment 
I  was  quick-tempered,  impatient  to  the  point  of  ex 
asperation — so  utterly  unable  was  I  to  understand 
wherein  I  was  failing  to  make  you  contented. 

"  Of  course  I  could  not  shirk  or  avoid  field  duty 
or  any  of  the  details  which  so  constantly  took  me 
away  from  you.  Also  I  began  to  understand  your 
impatience  of  garrison  life,  of  the  monotony  of  the 
place,  of  the  climate,  of  the  people.  But  all  this, 
which  I  could  not  help,  did  not  account  for  those 
dreadful  days  together  when  I  could  see  that  every 
minute  was  widening  the  breach  between  us. 

"  Alixe — your  letter  has  brought  it  all  back,  vivid, 
distressing,  exasperating;  and  this  time  I  know  that 
I  could  have  done  nothing  to  render  you  unhappy,  be 
cause  the  time  when  I  was  responsible  for  such  mat 
ters  is  past. 

"  And  this — forgive  me  if  I  say  it — arouses  a 
doubt  in  me — the  first  honest  doubt  I  have  had  of 
my  own  unshared  culpability.  Perhaps  after  all  a 
little  more  was  due  from  you  than  what  you  brought 
to  our  partnership — a  little  more  patience,  a  little 
more  appreciation  of  my  own  inexperience  and  of  my 
efforts  to  make  you  happy.  You  were,  perhaps,  un 
wittingly  exacting — even  a  little  bit  selfish.  And  those 
sudden,  impulsive  caprices  for  a  change  of  environ 
ment — an  escape  from  the  familiar — were  they  not 

261 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


rather  hard  on  me  who  could  do  nothing — who  had 
no  choice  in  the  matter  of  obedience  to  my  superiors? 

"  Again  and  again  I  asked  you  to  go  to  some 
decent  climate  and  wait  for  me  until  I  could  get 
leave.  I  stood  ready  and  willing  to  make  any  arrange 
ment  for  you,  and  you  made  no  decision. 

"  Then  when  Barnard's  command  moved  out  we 
had  our  last  distressing  interview.  And,  if  that  night 
I  spoke  of  your  present  husband  and  asked  you  to 
be  a  little  wiser  and  use  a  little  more  discretion  to 
avoid  malicious  comment — it  was  not  because  I 
dreamed  of  distrusting  you — it  was  merely  for  your 
own  guidance  and  because  you  had  so  often  complained 
of  other  people's  gossip  about  you. 

"  To  say  I  was  stunned,  crushed,  when  I  learned 
of  what  had  happened  in  my  absence,  is  to  repeat  a 
trite  phrase.  What  it  cost  me  is  of  no  consequence 
now ;  what  it  is  now  costing  you  I  cannot  help. 

"  Yet,  your  letter,  in  every  line,  seems  to  imply 
some  strange  responsibility  on  my  part  for  what  you 
speak  of  as  the  degrading  position  you  now  occupy. 

"  Degradation  or  not — let  us  leave  that  aside ;  you 
cannot  now  avoid  being  his  wife.  But  as  for  any 
hostile  attitude  of  society  in  your  regard — any  league 
or  coalition  to  discredit  you — that  is  not  apparent  to 
me.  Nor  can  it  occur  if  your  personal  attitude  toward 
the  world  is  correct.  Discretion  and  circumspection, 
a  happy,  confident  confronting  of  life — these,  and  a 
wise  recognition  of  conditions,  constitute  sufficient  safe 
guard  for  a  woman  in  your  delicately  balanced  posi 
tion. 

"  And  now,  one  thing  more.  You  ask  me  to  meet 
you  at  Sherry's  for  a  conference.  I  don't  care  to, 
Alixe.  There  is  nothing  to  be  said  except  what  can 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

be  written  on  letter-paper.  And  I  can  see  neither 
the  necessity  nor  the  wisdom  of  our  writing  any  more 
letters." 

For  a  few  days  no  reply  came;  then  he  received 
such  a  strange,  unhappy,  and  desperate  letter,  that, 
astonished,  alarmed,  and  apprehensive,  he  went  straight 
to  his  sister,  who  had  run  up  to  town  for  the  day  from 
Silverside,  and  who  had  telephoned  him  to  take  her 
somewhere  for  luncheon. 

Nina  appeared  very  gay  and  happy  and  youthful 
in  her  spring  plumage,  but  she  exclaimed  impatiently 
at  his  tired  and  careworn  pallor;  and  when  a  little 
later  they  were  seated  tete-a-tete  in  the  rococo  dining- 
room  of  a  popular  French  restaurant,  she  began  to 
urge  him  to  return  with  her,  insisting  that  a  week 
end  at  Silverside  was  what  he  needed  to  avert  physical 
disintegration. 

"  What  is  there  to  keep  you  in  town  ?  "  she  de 
manded,  breaking  bits  from  the  stick  of  crisp  bread. 
"  The  children  have  been  clamouring  for  you  day  and 
night,  and  Eileen  has  been  expecting  a  letter —  You 
promised  to  write  her,  Phil !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  write  to  her,"  he  said  impatiently ; 
"  wait  a  moment,  Nina — don't  speak  of  anything  pleas 
ant  or — or  intimate  just  now — because — because  I've 
got  to  bring  up  another  matter — something  not  very 
pleasant  to  me  or  to  you.  May  I  begin?" 

"What  is  it,  Phil?"  she  asked,  her  quick,  curious 
eyes  intent  on  his  troubled  face. 

"  It  is  about— Alixe." 

"What  about  her?  "  returned  his  sister  calmly. 

"  You  knew  her  in  school — years  ago.     You  have 

always  known  her " 

18  263 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


*  Yes." 

"  You — did  you  ever  visit  her  ?  —  stay  at  the 
Varians'  house?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  In — in  her  own  home  in  Westchester?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  a  silence ;  his  eyes  shifted  to  his  plate ; 
remained  fixed  as  he  said: 

"  Then  you  knew  her — father?  " 

"Yes,  Phil,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  knew  Mr. 
Varian." 

"  Was  there  anything — anything  unusual — about 
him — in  those  days  ?  " 

"Have  you  heard  that  for  the  first  time?"  asked 
his  sister. 

He  looked  up:  "  Yes.     What  was  it,  Nina?  " 

She  became  busy  with  her  plate  for  a  while;  he 
sat  rigid,  patient,  one  hand  resting  on  his  claret- 
glass.  And  presently  she  said  without  meeting  his 
eyes: 

"  It  was  even  farther  back — her  grandparents — 
one  of  them — "  She  lifted  her  head  slowly — "  That  is 
why  it  so  deeply  concerned  us,  Phil,  when  we  heard 
of  your  marriage." 

"  What  concerned  you  ?  " 

"  The  chance  of  inheritance — the  risk  of  the  taint 
— of  transmitting  it.  Her  father's  erratic  brilliancy 
became  more  than  eccentricity  before  I  knew  him.  I 
would  have  told  you  that  had  I  dreamed  that  you 
ever  could  have  thought  of  marrying  Alixe  Varian. 
But  how  could  I  know  you  would  meet  her  out  there 
in  the  Orient!  It  was — your  cable  to  us  was  like  a 
thunderbolt.  .  .  .  And  when  she — she  left  you  so  sud 
denly — Phil,  dear — I  -feared  the  true  reason — the  only 

264. 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

possible  reason  that  could  be  responsible  for  such  an 
insane  act." 

"What  was  the  truth  about  her  father?"  he  said 
doggedly.  "  He  was  eccentric ;  was  he  ever  worse  than 
that?" 

"  The  truth  was  that  he  became  mentally  irrespon 
sible  before  his  death." 

"You  know  this?" 

"  Alixe  told  me  when  we  were  schoolgirls.  And 
for  days  she  was  haunted  with  the  fear  of  what  might 
one  day  be  her  inheritance.  That  is  all  I  know,  Phil." 

He  nodded  and  for  a  while  made  some  pretence  of 
eating,  but  presently  leaned  back  and  looked  at  his 
sister  out  of  dazed  eyes. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  heavily,  "  that  she  was 
not  entirely  responsible  when — when  she  went  away?  " 

"  I  have  wondered,"  said  Nina  simply.  "  Austin 
believes  it." 

"  But — but — how  in  God's  name  could  that  be 
possible?  She  was  so  brilliant — so  witty,  so  charm 
ingly  and  capriciously  normal " 

"  Her  father  was  brilliant  and  popular — when  he 
was  young.  Austin  knew  him,  Phil.  I  have  often, 
often  wondered  whether  Alixe  realises  what  she  is 
about.  Her  restless  impulses,  her  intervals  of  curious 
resentment — so  many  things  which  I  remember  and 
which,  now,  I  cannot  believe  were  entirely  normal.  .  .  . 
It  is  a  dreadful  surmise  to  make  about  anybody  so 
youthful,  so  pretty,  so  lovable — and  yet,  it  is  the  kind 
est  way  to  account  for  her  strange  treatment  of 
you " 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  he  said,  staring  at  vacancy. 
"  I  refuse  to."  And,  thinking  of  her  last  frightened 
and  excited  letter  imploring  an  interview  with  him 

265 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  giving  the  startling  reason :  "  What  a  scoundrel 
that  fellow  Ruthven  is,"  he  said  with  a  shudder. 

"Why,  what  has  he " 

"  Nothing.     I  can't  discuss  it,  Nina " 

"Please  tell  me,  Phil!" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  tell." 

She  said  deliberately :  "  I  hope  there  is  not,  Phil. 
Nor  do  I  credit  any  mischievous  gossip  which  ventures 
to  link  my  brother's  name  with  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Ruthven." 

He  paid  no  heed  to  what  she  hinted,  and  he  was 
still  thinking  of  Ruthven  when  he  said :  "  The  most 
contemptible  and  cowardly  thing  a  man  can  do  is  to 
fail  a  person  dependent  on  him — when  that  person 
is  in  prospective  danger.  The  dependence,  the  threat 
ened  helplessness  must  appeal  to  any  man !  How  can 
he,  then,  fail  to  stand  by  a  person  in  trouble — a  per 
son  linked  to  him  by  every  tie,  every  obligation.  Why 
— why  to  fail  at  such  a  time  is  dastardly — and  to — 
to  make  a  possible  threatened  infirmity  a  reason  for 
abandoning  a  woman  is  monstrous !  " 

"  Phil !  I  never  for  a  moment  supposed  that  even 
if  you  suspected  Alixe  to  be  not  perfectly  responsible 
you  would  have  abandoned  her " 

"I?  Abandon  her\"  He  laughed  bitterly.  "I 
was  not  speaking  of  myself,"  he  said.  .  .  .  And  to 
himself  he  wondered:  "Was  it  that — after  all?  Is 
that  the  key  to  my  dreadful  inability  to  understand? 
I  cannot — I  cannot  accept  it.  I  know  her ;  it  was 
not  that ;  it — it  must  not  be !  " 


And  that  night  he  wrote  to  her: 

"  If    he    threatens    you    with    divorce    on    such    a 
ground  he  himself  is  likely  to  be  adjudged  mentally 

266 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

unsound.  It  was  a  brutal,  stupid  threat,  nothing 
more ;  and  his  insult  to  your  father's  memory  was 
more  brutal  still.  Don't  be  stampeded  by  such  threats. 
Disprove  them  by  your  calm  self-control  under  provo 
cation;  disprove  them  by  your  discretion  and  self- 
confidence.  Give  nobody  a  single  possible  reason  for 
gossip.  And  above  all,  Alixe,  don't  become  worried 
and  morbid  over  anything  you  might  dread  as  inheri 
tance,  for  you  are  as  sound  to-day  as  you  were  when 
I  first  met  you;  and  you  shall  not  doubt  that  you 
could  ever  be  anything  else.  Be  the  woman  you  can 
be!  Show  the  pluck  and  courage  to  make  the  very 
best  out  of  life.  I  have  slowly  learned  to  attempt 
it;  and  it  is  not  difficult  if  you  convince  yourself  that 
it  can  be  done." 

To  this  she  answered  the  next  day: 

"  I  will  do  my  best.  There  is  danger  and  treachery 
everywhere;  and  if  it  becomes  unendurable  I  shall  put 
an  end  to  it  in  one  way  or  another.  As  for  his  threat 
— incident  on  my  admitting  that  I  did  go  to  your 
room,  and  defying  him  to  dare  believe  evil  of  me  for 
doing  it — I  can  laugh  at  it  now — though,  when  I 
wrote  you,  I  was  terrified — remembering  how  mentally 
broken  my  father  was  when  he  died. 

"  But,  as  you  say,  I  am  sound,  body  and  mind.  I 
know  it;  I  don't  doubt  it  for  one  moment — except — 
at  long  intervals  when,  apropos  of  nothing,  a  faint 
sensation  of  dread  comes  creeping. 

"  But  I  am  sound !  I  know  it  so  absolutely  that 
I  sometimes  wonder  at  my  own  perfect  sanity  and 
understanding;  and  so  clearly,  so  faultlessly,  so  pre 
cisely  does  my  mind  work  that — and  this  I  never  told 
you — I  am  often  and  often  able  to  detect  mental  in- 

267 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


adequacy  in  many  people  around  me — the  slightest 
deviation  from  the  normal,  the  least  degree  of  mental 
instability.  Phil,  so  sensitive  to  extraneous  impression 
is  my  mind  that  you  would  be  astonished  to  know 
how  instantly  perceptible  to  me  is  mental  degenera 
tion  in  other  people.  And  it  would  amaze  you,  too, 
if  I  should  tell  you  how  many,  many  people  you  know 
are,  in  some  degree,  more  or  less  insane. 

"  But  there  is  no  use  in  going  into  such  matters ; 
all  I  meant  to  convey  to  you  was  that  I  am  not 
frightened  now  at  any  threat  of  that  sort  from  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  passed  between  you  and  him ; 
he  won't  tell  me ;  but  I  do  know  from  the  servants  that 
he  has  been  quite  ill — I  was  in  Westchester  that  night 
— and  that  something  happened  to  his  eyes — they  were 
dreadful  for  a  while.  I  imagine  it  has  something  to 
do  with  veins  and  arteries;  and  it's  understood  that 
he's  to  avoid  sudden  excitement. 

"  However,  he's  only  serenely  disagreeable  to  me 
now,  and  we  see  almost  nothing  of  one  another  except 
over  the  card-tables.  Gerald  has  been  winning  rather 
heavily,  I  am  glad  to  say — glad,  as  long  as  I  cannot 
prevent  him  from  playing.  And  yet  I  may  be  able 
to  accomplish  that  yet — in  a  roundabout  way — be 
cause  the  apple-visaged  and  hawk-beaked  Mr.  Neer- 
gard  has  apparently  become  my  slavish  creature;  quite 
infatuated.  And  as  soon  as  I've  fastened  on  his 
collar,  and  made  sure  that  Rosamund  can't  unhook 
it,  I'll  try  to  make  him  shut  down  on  Gerald's  play 
ing.  This  for  your  sake,  Phil — because  you  ask  me. 
And  because  you  must  always  stand  for  all  that  is 
upright  and  good  and  manly  in  my  eyes.  Ah,  Phil! 
what  a  fool  I  was !  And  all,  all  my  own  fault,  too. 

"  ALIXE." 
268 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

This  ended  the  sudden  eruption  of  correspondence; 
for  he  did  not  reply  to  this  letter,  though  in  it  he 
read  enough  to  make  him  gravely  uneasy;  and  he  fell, 
once  more,  into  the  habit  of  brooding,  from  which  both 
Boots  Lansing  and  Eileen  had  almost  weaned  him. 

Also  he  began  to  take  long  solitary  walks  in  the 
Park  when  not  occupied  in  conferences  with  the  repre 
sentatives  of  the  Lawn  Nitro-Powder  Works — a  com 
pany  which  had  recently  approached  him  in  behalf  of 
his  unperfected  explosive,  Chaosite. 

This  hermit  life  might  have  continued  in  town  in 
definitely  had  he  not,  one  morning,  been  surprised  by 
a  note  from  Eileen — the  first  he  had  ever  had  from  her. 

It  was  only  a  very  brief  missive — piquant,  amusing, 
innocently  audacious  in  closing — a  mere  reminder  that 
he  had  promised  to  write  to  her;  and  she  ended  it  by 
asking  him  very  plainly  whether  he  had  not  missed 
her,  in  terms  so  frank,  so  sweet,  so  confident  of  his 
inevitable  answer,  that  all  the  enchantment  of  their 
delightful  intimacy  surged  back  in  one  quick  tremor 
of  happiness,  washing  from  his  heart  and  soul  the 
clinging,  sordid,  evil  things  which  were  creeping  closer, 
closer  to  torment  and  overwhelm  him. 

And  all  that  day  he  went  about  his  business  quite 
happily,  her  letter  in  his  pocket;  and  that  night, 
taking  a  new  pen  and  pen  holder,  he  laid  out  his  very 
best  letter-paper,  and  began  the  first  letter  he  had 
ever  written  to  Eileen  Erroll. 

"  DEAR  EILEEN  :  I  have  your  charming  little  note 
from  Silverside  reminding  me  that  I  had  promised  to 
write  you.  But  I  needed  no  reminder ;  you  know  that. 
Then  why  have  I  not  written?  I  couldn't,  off-hand. 
And  every  day  and  evening  except  to-day  and  this  even- 

269 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


ing  I  have  been  in  conference  with  Edgerton  Lawn 
and  other  representatives  of  the  Lawn  Nitro-Powder 
Company ;  and  have  come  to  a  sort  of  semi-agreement 
with  them  concerning  a  high  explosive  called  Chaosite, 
which  they  desire  to  control  the  sale  of  as  soon  as  I  can 
control  its  tendency  to  misbehave.  This  I  expect  to  do 
this  summer;  and  Austin  has  very  kindly  offered  me  a 
tiny  cottage  out  on  the  moors  too  far  from  anybody  or 
anything  to  worry  people. 

"  I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  have  such 
attractive  business  prospects  in  view.  I  dare  say  I  shall 
scarcely  know  what  to  do  with  my  enormous  profits  a 
year  or  two  hence.  Have  you  any  suggestions? 

"  Meanwhile,  however,  your  letter  and  its  questions 
await  answers ;  and  here  they  are : 

"  Yes,  I  saw  Gerald  once  at  his  club  and  had  a  short 
talk  with  him.  He  was  apparently  well.  You  should 
not  feel  so  anxious  about  him.  He  is  very  young,  yet, 
but  he  comes  from  good  stock.  Sooner  or  later  he  is 
bound  to  find  himself;  you  must  not  doubt  that.  Also 
he  knows  that  he  can  always  come  to  me  when  he  wishes. 

"  No,  I  have  not  ridden  in  the  Park  since  you  and 
Nina  and  the  children  went  to  Silverside.  I  walked 
there  Sunday,  and  it  was  most  beautiful,  especially 
through  the  Ramble.  In  his  later  years  my  father  was 
fond  of  walking  there  with  me.  That  is  one  reason  I  go 
there;  he  seems  to  be  very  near  me  when  I  stand  under 
the  familiar  trees  or  move  along  the  flowering  walks  he 
loved  so  well.  I  wish  you  had  known  him.  It  is  curious 
how  often  this  wish  recurs  to  me ;  and  so  persistent  was 
it  in  the  Park  that  lovely  Sunday  that,  at  moments,  it 
seemed  as  though  we  three  were  walking  there  together 
— he  and  you  and  I — quite  happy  in  the  silence  of  com 
panionship  which  seemed  not  of  yesterday  but  of  years. 

270 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

"  It  is  rather  a  comforting  faculty  I  have — this  un 
conscious  companionship  with  the  absent.  Once  I  told 
you  that  you  had  been  with  me  while  you  supposed  your 
self  to  be  at  Silverside.  Do  you  remember?  Now,  here 
in  the  city,  I  walk  with  you  constantly ;  and  we  often 
keep  pace  together  through  crowded  streets  and  ave 
nues  ;  and  in  the  quiet  hours  you  are  very  often  seated 
not  far  from  where  I  sit.  ...  If  I  turned  around  now 
— so  real  has  been  your  presence  in  my  room  to-night — 
that  it  seems  as  though  I  could  not  help  but  surprise 
you  here — just  yonder  on  the  edges  of  the  lamp 
glow 

"  But  I  know  you  had  rather  remain  at  Silverside, 
so  I  won't  turn  around  and  surprise  you  here  in  Man 
hattan  town. 

"  And  now  your  next  question :  Yes,  Boots  is  well, 
and  I  will  give  him  Drina's  love,  and  I  will  try  my  best 
to  bring  him  to  Silverside  when  I  come.  Boots  is  still 
crazed  with  admiration  for  his  house.  He  has  two  cats, 
a  housekeeper,  and  a  jungle  of  shrubs  and  vines  in  the 
back  yard,  which  he  plays  the  hose  on ;  and  he  has  also 
acquired  some  really  beautiful  old  rugs — a  Herez  which 
has  all  the  tints  of  a  living  sapphire,  and  a  charming 
antique  Shiraz,  rose,  gold,  and  that  rare  old  Persian 
blue.  To  mention  symbols  for  a  moment,  apropos  of 
our  archaeological  readings  together,  Boots  has  an  an 
tique  Asia  Minor  rug  in  which  I  discovered  not  only 
the  Swastika,  but  also  a  fire-altar,  a  Rhodian  lily  bor 
der,  and  a  Mongolian  motif  which  appears  to  resemble 
the  cloud-band.  It  was  quite  an  Anatshair  jumble  in 
fact,  very  characteristic.  We  must  capture  Nina  some 
day  and  she  and  you  and  I  will  pay  a  visit  to  Boots's 
rugs  and  study  these  old  dyes  and  mystic  symbols  of  the 
East.  Shall  we? 

271 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  And  now  your  last  question.  And  I  answer :  Yes, 
I  do  miss  you — so  badly  that  I  often  take  refuge  in 
summoning  you  in  spirit.  The  other  day  I  had  occasion 
to  see  Austin;  and  we  sat  in  the  library  where  all  the 
curtains  are  in  linen  bags  and  all  the  furniture  in  over 
alls,  and  where  the  rugs  are  rolled  in  tarred  paper  and 
the  pictures  are  muffled  in  cheese-cloth. 

"  And  after  our  conference  had  ended  and  I  was  on 
my  way  to  the  hall  below,  suddenly  on  my  ear,  faint  but 
clear,  I  heard  your  voice,  sweet  as  the  odour  of  blos 
soms  in  an  empty  room.  No — it  neither  deceived  nor 
startled  me ;  I  have  often  heard  it  before,  when  you  were 
nowhere  near.  And,  that  I  may  answer  your  question 
more  completely,  I  answer  it  again :  Yes,  I  miss  you ;  so 
that  I  hear  your  voice  through  every  silence;  all  voids 
are  gay  with  it;  there  are  no  lonely  places  where  my 
steps  pass,  because  you  are  always  near;  no  stillness 
through  which  your  voice  does  not  sound ;  no  unhappi- 
ness,  no  sordid  cares  which  the  memory  of  you  does  not 
make  easier  to  endure. 

"  Have  I  answered?  And  now,  good-night.  Gerald 
has  just  come  in ;  I  hear  him  passing  through  the  hall 
to  his  own  apartments.  So  I'll  drop  in  for  a  smoke 
with  him  before  I  start  to  search  for  you  in  dreamland. 
Good-night,  Eileen.  PHILIP  SELWYN." 

When  he  had  finished,  sealed,  and  stamped  his  letter 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  smiling  to  himself,  still  under 
the  spell  which  the  thought  of  her  so  often  now  cast 
over  him.  Life  and  the  world  were  younger,  cleaner, 
fresher ;  the  charming  energy  of  her  physical  vigour  and 
youth  and  beauty  tinted  all  things  with  the  splendid  hue 
of  inspiration.  But  most  of  all  it  was  the  exquisite  fas 
tidiousness  of  her  thoughts  that  had  begun  to  inthral 

272 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

him — that  crystal  clear  intelligence,  so  direct,  so  gen 
erous — the  splendid  wholesome  attitude  toward  life — 
and  her  dauntless  faith  in  the  goodness  of  it. 

Breathing  deeply,  he  drew  in  the  fragrance  of  her 
memory,  and  the  bitterness  of  things  was  dulled  with 
every  quiet  respiration. 

He  smiled  again,  too ;  how  utterly  had  his  sister  mis 
taken  their  frank  companionship !  How  stupidly  su 
perfluous  was  it  to  pretend  to  detect,  in  their  comrade 
ship,  the  commonplaces  of  sentiment — as  though  such 
a  girl  as  Eileen  Erroll  were  of  the  common  self-conscious 
mould — as  though  in  their  cordial  understanding  there 
was  anything  less  simple  than  community  of  taste  and 
the  mutual  attraction  of  intelligence! 

Then,  the  memory  of  what  his  sister  had  said  drove 
the  smile  from  his  face  and  he  straightened  up  impa 
tiently.  Love!  What  unfortunate  hallucination  had 
obsessed  Nina  to  divine  what  did  not  exist? — what  need 
not  exist?  How  could  a  woman  like  his  sister  fall 
into  such  obvious  error;  how  could  she  mistake  such 
transparent  innocence,  such  visible  freedom  from 
motive  in  this  young  girl's  pure  friendship  for 
himself? 

And,  as  for  him,  he  had  never  thought  of  Eileen — 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  think  of  her  so  materially 
or  sentimentally.  For,  although  he  now  understood 
that  he  had  never  known  what  love  might  be — its 
coarser  mask,  infatuation,  he  had  learned  to  see 
through ;  and,  as  that  is  all  he  had  ever  known  concern 
ing  love,  the  very  hint  of  it  had  astonished  and  repelled 
him,  as  though  the  mere  suggestion  had  been  a  rudeness 
offered  to  this  delicate  and  delicious  friendship  blossom 
ing  into  his  life — a  life  he  had  lately  thought  so  barren 
and  laid  waste. 

273 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


No,  his  sister  was  mistaken ;  but  her  mistake  must 
not  disturb  the  blossoming  of  this  unstained  flower. 
Sufficient  that  Eileen  and  he  disdainfully  ignore  the 
trite  interpretation  those  outside  might  offer  them  un 
asked;  sufficient  that  their  confidence  in  one  another 
remain  without  motive  other  than  the  happiness  of  un 
embarrassed  people  who  find  a  pleasure  in  sharing  an 
intelligent  curiosity  concerning  men  and  things  and  the 
world  about  them. 

Thinking  of  these  matters,  lying  back  there  in  his 
desk  chair,  he  suddenly  remembered  that  Gerald  had 
come  in.  They  had  scarcely  seen  one  another  since  that 
unhappy  meeting  in  the  Stuyvesant  Club ;  and  now,  re 
membering  what  he  had  written  to  Eileen,  he  emerged 
with  a  start  from  his  contented  dreaming,  sobered  by 
the  prospect  of  seeking  Gerald. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  hesitated ;  but  he  had  said 
in  his  letter  that  he  was  going  to  do  it ;  and  now  he  rose, 
looked  around  for  his  pipe,  found  it,  filled  and  lighted 
it,  and,  throwing  on  his  dressing-gown,  went  out  into 
the  corridor,  tying  the  tasselled  cords  around  his  waist 
as  he  walked. 

His  first  knock  remaining  unanswered,  he  knocked 
more  sharply.  Then  he  heard  from  within  the  muffled 
creak  of  a  bed,  heavy  steps  across  the  floor.  The  door 
opened  with  a  jerk;  Gerald  stood  there,  eyes  swollen, 
hair  in  disorder,  his  collar  crushed,  and  the  white  even 
ing  tie  unknotted  and  dangling  over  his  soiled  shirt- 
front. 

"Hello,"  said  Selwyn  simply;  "may  I  come  in?" 

The  boy  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  though 
confused  by  the  light ;  then  he  turned  and  walked  back 
toward  the  bed,  still  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  sat  down  on 
the  edge. 

274 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

Selwyn  closed  the  door  and  seated  himself,  appar 
ently  not  noticing  Gerald's  dishevelment. 

"  Thought  I'd  drop  in  for  a  good-night  pipe,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  By  the  way,  Gerald,  I'm  going  down  to 
Silverside  next  week.  Nina  has  asked  Boots,  too. 
Couldn't  you  fix  it  to  come  along  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy  in  a  low  voice ;  "  I'd 
like  to." 

"  Good  business !  That  will  be  fine !  What  you  and 
I  need  is  a  good  stiff  tramp  across  the  moors,  or  a  gal 
lop,  if  you  like.  It's  great  for  mental  cobwebs,  and  my 
brain  is  disgracefully  unswept.  By  the  way,  somebody 
said  that  you'd  joined  the  Siowitha  Club." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  listlessly. 

"  Well,  you'll  get  some  lively  trout  fishing  there 
now.  It's  only  thirty  miles  from  Silverside,  you  know — 
you  can  run  over  in  the  motor  very  easily." 

Gerald  nodded,  sitting  silent,  his  handsome  head 
supported  in  both  hands,  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

That  something  was  very  wrong  with  him  appeared 
plainly  enough;  but  Selwyn,  touched  to  the  heart  and 
miserably  apprehensive,  dared  not  question  him,  un 
asked. 

And  so  they  sat  there  for  a  while,  Selwyn  making 
what  conversation  he  could;  and  at  length  Gerald 
turned  and  dragged  himself  across  the  bed,  dropping 
his  head  back  on  the  disordered  pillows. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said ;  "  I'm  listening." 

So  Selwyn  continued  his  pleasant,  inconsequential 
observations,  and  Gerald  lay  with  closed  eyes,  quite  mo 
tionless,  until,  watching  him,  Selwyn  saw  his  hand  was 
trembling  where  it  lay  clinched  beside  him.  And  pres 
ently  the  boy  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

Toward  midnight  Selwyn  rose  quietly,  removed  his 
275 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


unlighted  pipe  from  between  his  teeth,  knocked  the 
ashes  from  it,  and  pocketed  it.  Then  he  walked  to  the 
bed  and  seated  himself  on  the  edge. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  old  man?  "  he  asked  coolly. 

There  was  no  answer.  He  placed  his  hand  over 
Gerald's;  the  boy's  hand  lay  inert,  then  quivered  and 
closed  on  Selwyn's  convulsively. 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  elder  man ;  "  that's  what 
I'm  here  for — to  stand  by  when  you  hoist  signals. 
Go  on." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  and  buried  it  deeper  in  the 
pillow. 

"Bad  as  that?"  commented  Selwyn  quietly. 
"Well,  what  of  it?  I'm  standing  by,  I  tell  you.  .  .  . 
That's  right  " — as  Gerald  broke  down,  his  body  quiv 
ering  under  the  spasm  of  soundless  grief — "  that's  the 
safety  -  valve  working.  Good  business.  Take  your 
time." 

It  took  a  long  time;  and  Selwyn  sat  silent  and  mo 
tionless,  his  whole  arm  numb  from  its  position  and  Ger 
ald's  crushing  grasp.  And  at  last,  seeing  that  was  the 
moment  to  speak: 

"  Now  let's  fix  up  this  matter,  Gerald.     Come  on !  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  h-how  can  it  be  f-fixed " 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  you  tell  me.  It's  a  money  diffi 
culty,  I  suppose ;  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Cards?" 

"  P-partly." 

"Oh,  a  note?  Case  of  honour?  Where  is  this 
I.  O.  U.  that  you  gave?  " 

"  It's  worse  than  that.  The — the  note  is  paid. 
Good  God — I  can't  tell  you " 

"  You  must.    That's  why  I'm  here,  Gerald." 
276 


ERRANDS   AND    LETTERS 

"Well,  then,  I — I  drew  a  check — knowing  that  I  had 
no  funds.  If  it — if  they  return  it,  marked " 

"  I  see.  ...  What  are  the  figures?  " 

The  boy  stammered  them  out;  Selwyn's  grave  face 
grew  graver  still. 

"  That  is  bad,"  he  said  slowly—"  very  bad.  Have 
you — but  of  course  you  couldn't  have  seen  Austin " 

"  I'd  kill  myself  first!  "  said  Gerald  fiercely. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't  do  that.  You're  not  that  kind. 
.  .  .  Keep  perfectly  cool,  Gerald ;  because  it  is  going 
to  be  fixed.  The  method  only  remains  to  be  decided 
upon " 

"  I  can't  take  your  money !  "  stammered  the  boy ; 
"  I  can't  take  a  cent  from  you — after  what  I've  said — 
the  beastly  things  I've  said " 

"  It  isn't  the  things  you  say  to  me,  Gerald,  that 
matter.  .  .  .  Let  me  think  a  bit — and  don't  worry. 
Just  lie  quietly,  and  understand  that  I'll  do  the  worry 
ing.  And  while  I'm  amusing  myself  with  a  little  quiet 
reflection  as  to  ways  and  means,  just  take  your  own 
bearings  from  this  reef ;  and  set  a  true  course  once  more, 
Gerald.  That  is  all  the  reproach,  all  the  criticism  you 
are  going  to  get  from  me.  Deal  with  yourself  and  your 
God  in  silence." 

And  in  silence  and  heavy  dismay  Selwyn  confronted 
the  sacrifice  he  must  make  to  save  the  honour  of  the 
house  of  Erroll. 

It  meant  more  than  temporary  inconvenience  to 
himself;  it  meant  that  he  must  go  into  the  market  and 
sell  securities  which  were  partly  his  capital,  and  from 
which  came  the  modest  income  that  enabled  him  to  live  as 
he  did. 

There  was  no  other  way,  unless  he  went  to  Austin. 
But  he  dared  not  do  that — dared  not  think  what  Aus- 

277 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


tin's  action  in  the  matter  might  be.  And  he  knew  that 
if  Gerald  were  ever  driven  into  hopeless  exile  with  Aus 
tin's  knowledge  of  his  disgrace  rankling,  the  boy's  utter 
ruin  must  result  inevitably. 

Yet — yet — how  could  he  afford  to  do  this — unoccu 
pied,  earning  nothing,  bereft  of  his  profession,  with 
only  the  chance  in  view  that  his  Chaosite  might  turn 
out  stable  enough  to  be  marketable  ?  How  could  he  dare 
so  strip  himself  ?  Yet,  there  was  no  other  way ;  it  had 
to  be  done ;  and  done  at  once — the  very  first  thing  in  the 
morning  before  it  became  too  late. 

And  at  first,  in  the  bitter  resentment  of  the  neces 
sity,  his  impulse  was  to  turn  on  Gerald  and  bind  him 
to  good  conduct  by  every  pledge  the  boy  could  give. 
At  least  there  would  be  compensation.  Yet,  with  the 
thought  came  the  clear  conviction  of  its  futility.  The 
boy  had  brushed  too  close  to  dishonour  not  to  recognise 
it.  And  if  this  were  not  a  lifelong  lesson  to  him,  no 
promises  forced  from  him  in  his  dire  need  and  distress, 
no  oaths,  no  pledges  could  bind  him ;  no  blame,  no  ad 
monition,  no  scorn,  no  contempt,  no  reproach  could  help 
him  to  see  more  clearly  the  pit  of  destruction  than  he 
could  see  now. 

"  You  need  sleep,  Gerald,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Don't 
worry ;  I'll  see  that  your  check  is  not  dishonoured ;  all 
you  have  to  see  to  is  yourself.  Good-night,  my  boy." 

But  Gerald  could  not  speak ;  and  so  Selwyn  left  him 
and  walked  slowly  back  to  his  own  room,  where  he  seated 
himself  at  his  desk,  grave,  absent-eyed,  his  unfilled  pipe 
between  his  teeth. 

And  he  sat  there  until  he  had  bitten  clean  through 
the  amber  mouthpiece,  so  that  the  brier  bowl  fell  clat 
tering  to  the  floor.  By  that  time  it  was  full  daylight ; 
but  Gerald  was  still  asleep.  He  slept  late  into  the 

278 


ERRANDS   AND   LETTERS 

afternoon ;  but  that  evening,  when  Selwyn  and  Lansing 
came  in  to  persuade  him  to  go  with  them  to  Silverside, 
Gerald  was  gone. 

They  waited  another  day  for  him;  he  did  not  ap 
pear.  And  that  night  they  left  for  Silverside  without 
him. 


V 


] 

V 


19  279 


CHAPTER    VIII 


SILVERSIDE 

DURING  that  week-end  at  Silverside  Boots  behaved 
like  a  school-lad  run  wild.  With  Drina's  hand  in  his, 
half  a  dozen  dogs  as  advanced  guard,  and  heavily 
flanked  by  the  Gerard  battalion,  he  scoured  the  moor 
lands  from  Surf  Point  toMie  Hither  Woods;  from 
Wonder  Head  to  Sky  Pond.| 

Ever  hopeful  of  rabbit-^nd  fox,  Billy  urged  on  his 

the  sea  wind  rang  with  the 
treble  note  of  his  whistle, 
the  virus  of  nature-study, 
net,  while  Boots's  pock- 
:hal  bottles  and  perforated  tin 
caterpillars.  The  other  chil- 
>f  Billy's  pack,  ran  haphazard, 
opportunists,  eternal  prisoners 
creepers,  scratched  and  soiled  in 
always  up  and  forward  again, 
ranging  out,  nose  in  the  wind,  dauntless,  expectant, 
wonder-eyed. 

Nina,  Eileen,  and  Selwyn  formed  a  lagging  and 
leisurely  rear-guard,  though  always  within  signalling 
distance  of  Boots  and  the  main  body ;  and,  when  neces 
sary,  the  two  ex-army  men  wig-wagged  to  each  other 
across  the  uplands  to  the  endless  excitement  and  gratifi 
cation  of  the  children. 

280 


cheerful  waddling  pack  an< 
crack  of  his  whip  and 
Drina,  lately  inoculated 
carried  a  green  gauzej>i 
ets  bulged  with  varj< 
boxes  for  the  recei 
dren,  like  the 
tireless  and 
of  hope,  tripped 
thicket  and 


SILVEESIDE 


It  was  a  perfect  week-end ;  the  sky,  pale  as  a  robin's 
egg  at  morn  and  even,  deepened  to  royal  blue  under  the 
noon-day  sun ;  and  all  the  world — Long  Island — seemed 
but  a  gigantic  gold-green  boat  stemming  the  running 
purple  of  the  sea  and  Sound. 

The  air,  when  still,  quivered  in  that  deep,  rich  silence 
instinct  with  the  perpetual  monotone  of  the  sea;  stiller 
for  the  accentless  call  of  some  lone  moorland  bird,  or 
the  gauzy  clatter  of  a  dragon-fly  in  reedy  reaches.  But 
when  the  moon  rose  and  the  breeze  awakened,  and  the 
sedges  stirred,  and  the  cat's-paws  raced  across  the 
moonlit  ponds,  and  the  far  surf  off  Wonder  Head  in 
toned  the  hymn  of  the  four  winds,  the  trinity,  earth  and 
sky  and  water,  became  one  thunderous  symphony — a 
harmony  of  sound  and  colour  silvered  to  a  monochrome 
by  the  moon. 

Then,  through  the  tinted  mystery  the  wild  ducks, 
low  flying,  drove  like  a  flight  of  witches  through  the 
dusk ;  and  unseen  herons  called  from  their  heronry, 
fainter,  fainter  till  their  goblin  yelps  died  out  in  the 
swelling  murmur  of  a  million  wind-whipped  leaves. 

Then  was  the  moorland  waste  bewitching  in  its  alter 
nation  of  softly  checkered  gray  and  shade,  where  acres 
of  feathery  grasses  flowed  in  wind-blown  furrows ;  where 
in  the  purple  obscurity  of  hollows  the  strange  and  aged 
little  forests  grew  restless  and  full  of  echoes ;  where 
shadowy  reeds  like  elfin  swords  clattered  and  thrust  and 
parried  across  the  darkling  pools  of  haunted  waters 
unstirred  save  for  the  swirl  of  a  startled  fish  or  the 
smoothly  spreading  wake  of  some  furry  creature  swim 
ming  without  a  sound. 

Into  this  magic  borderland,  dimmer  for  moonlit 
glimpses  in  ghostly  contrast  to  the  shadow  shape  of 
wood  and  glade,  Eileen  conducted  Selwyn;  and  they 

281 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


heard  the  whirr  of  painted  wood-ducks  passing  in  ob 
scurity,  and  the  hymn  of  the  four  winds  off  Wonder 
Head;  and  they  heard  the  herons,  noisy  in  their  her 
onry,  and  a  young  fox  yapping  on  a  moon-struck  dune. 

But  Selwyn  cared  more  for  the  sun  and  the  infinite 
blue  above,  and  the  vast  cloud-forms  piled  up  in  argent 
splendour  behind  a  sea  of  amethyst. 

"  The  darker,  vaguer  phases  of  beauty,"  he  said  to 
Eileen,  smiling,  "  attract  and  fascinate  those  young  in 
experience.  Tragedy  is  always  better  appreciated  and 
better  rendered  by  those  who  have  never  lived  it.  The 
anatomy  of  sadness,  the  subtler  fascination  of  life 
brooding  in  shadow,  appeals  most  keenly  to  those  who 
can  study  and  reflect,  then  dismiss  it  all  and  return 
again  to  the  brightness  of  existence  which  has  not  yet 
for  them  been  tarnished." 

He  had  never  before,  even  by  slightest  implication, 
referred  to  his  own  experience  with  life.  She  was  not 
perfectly  certain  that  he  did  so  now. 

They  were  standing  on  one  of  the  treeless  hills — a 
riotous  tangle  of  grasses  and  wild  flowers — looking  out 
to  sea  across  Sky  Pond.  He  had  a  rod ;  and  as  he  stood 
he  idly  switched  the  gaily  coloured  flies  backward  and 
forward. 

"  My  tastes,"  he  said,  still  smiling,  "  incline  me  to 
the  garishly  sunlit  side  of  this  planet."  And,  to  tease 
her  and  arouse  her  to  combat :  "  I  prefer  a  f arandole  to 
a  nocturne ;  I'd  rather  have  a  painting  than  an  etching ; 
Mr.  Whistler  bores  me  with  his  monochromatic  mud ;  I 
don't  like  dull  colours,  dull  sounds,  dull  intellects ;  and 
anything  called  '  an  arrangement '  on  canvas,  or  any 
thing  called  *  a  human  document '  or  *  an  appreciation  ' 
in  literature,  or  anything  '  precious  '  in  art,  or  any 
author  who  '  weaves  '  instead  of  writes  his  stories — all 

282 


SILVEESIDE 


these  irritate  me  when  they  do  not  first  bore  me  to  the 
verge  of  anaesthesia." 

He  switched  his  trout-flies  defiantly,  hopeful  of  an 
indignant  retort  from  her;  but  she  only  laughed  and 
glanced  at  him,  and  shook  her  pretty  head. 

"  There's  just  enough  truth  in  what  you  say  to 
make  a  dispute  quite  profitless.  Besides,  I  don't  feel 
like  single  combat ;  Pm  too  glad  to  have  you  here." 

Standing  there — fairly  swimming — in  the  delicious 
upper-air  currents,  she  looked  blissfully  across  the  roll 
ing  moors,  while  the  sunlight  drenched  her  and  the  salt 
wind  winnowed  the  ruddy  glory  of  her  hair,  and  from 
the  tangle  of  tender  blossoming  green  things  a  perfume 
mounted,  saturating  her  senses  as  she  breathed  it  deeper 
in  the  happiness  of  desire  fulfilled  and  content  quite  ab 
solute. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  what  more  is  there  than 
this?  Earth  and  sea  and  sky  and  sun,  and  a  friend  to 
show  them  to.  ...  Because,  as  I  wrote  you,  the  friend 
is  quite  necessary  in  the  scheme  of  things — to  round  out 
the  symmetry  of  it  all.  ...  I  suppose  you're  dying  to 
dangle  those  flies  in  Brier  Water  to  see  whether  there 
are  any  trout  there.  Well,  there  are ;  Austin  stocked  it 
years  ago,  and  he  never  fishes,  so  no  doubt  it's  full  of 
fish.  .  .  .  What  is  that  black  thing  moving  along  the 
edge  of  the  Golden  Marsh?  " 

"  A  mink,"  he  said,  looking. 

She  seated  herself  cross-legged  on  the  hill-top  to 
watch  the  mink  at  her  leisure.  But  the  lithe  furry  crea 
ture  took  to  the  water,  dived,  and  vanished,  and  she 
turned  her  attention  to  the  landscape. 

"Do  you  see  that  lighthouse  far  to  the  south?" 
she  asked ;  "  that  is  Frigate  Light.  West  of  it  lies  Surf 
Point,  and  the  bay  between  is  Surf  Bay.  That's  where 

283 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I  nearly  froze  solid  in  my  first  ocean  bath  of  the  year. 
A  little  later  we  can  bathe  in  that  cove  to  the  north — 
the  Bay  of  Shoals.  You  see  it,  don't  you? — there,  lying 
tucked  in  between  Wonder  Head  and  the  Hither  Woods  ; 
but  I  forgot!  Of  course  you've  been  here  before; 
and  you  know  all  this ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  quietly,  "  my  brother  and  I  came 
here  as  boys." 

"  Have  you  not  been  here  since  ?  " 

"  Once."  He  turned  and  looked  down  at  the  sea- 
battered  wharf  jutting  into  the  Bay  of  Shoals.  "  Once, 
since  I  was  a  boy,"  he  repeated ;  "  but  I  came  alone. 
The  transports  landed  at  that  wharf  after  the  Spanish 
war.  The  hospital  camp  was  yonder.  .  .  .  My  brother 
died  there." 

She  lifted  her  clear  eyes  to  his ;  he  was  staring  at  the 
outline  of  the  Hither  Woods  fringing  the  ochre-tinted 
heights. 

"  There  was  no  companion  like  him,"  he  said ;  "  there 
is  no  one  to  take  his  place.  Still,  time  helps — in  a 
measure." 

But  he  looked  out  across  the  sea  with  a  grief  for  ever 
new. 

She,  too,  had  been  helped  by  time;  she  was  very 
young  when  the  distant  and  fabled  seas  took  father  and 
mother ;  and  it  was  not  entirely  their  memory,  but  more 
the  wistful  lack  of  ability  to  remember  that  left  her  so 
hopelessly  alone. 

Sharper  his  sorrow;  but  there  was  the  comfort  of 
recollection  in  it ;  and  she  looked  at  him  and,  for  an  in 
stant,  envied  him  his  keener  grief.  Then  leaning  a  little 
toward  him  where  he  reclined,  the  weight  of  his  body 
propped  up  on  one  arm,  she  laid  her  hand  across  his 
hand  half  buried  in  the  grass. 

284 


SILVERSIDE 


"  It's  only  another  tie  between  us,"  she  said — "  the 
memory  of  your  dead  and  mine.  .  .  .  Will  you  tell  me 
about  him?  " 

And  leaning  there,  eyes  on  the  sea,  and  her  smooth, 
young  hand  covering  his,  he  told  her  of  the  youth  who 
had  died  there  in  the  first  flush  of  manhood  and  achieve 
ment. 

His  voice,  steady  and  grave,  came  to  her  through 
hushed  intervals  when  the  noise  of  the  surf  died  out  as 
the  wind  veered  seaward.  And  she  listened,  heart  in 
tent,  until  he  spoke  no  more ;  and  the  sea-wind  rose 
again  filling  her  ears  with  the  ceaseless  menace  of  the 
surf. 

After  a  while  he  picked  up  his  rod,  and  sat  erect  and 
cross-legged  as  she  sat,  and  flicked  the  flies,  absently, 
across  the  grass,  aiming  at  wind-blown  butterflies. 

"  All  these  changes !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  sweep  of 
the  rod-butt  toward  Widgeon  Bay.  "  When  I  was  here 
as  a  boy  there  were  no  fine  estates,  no  great  houses,  no 
country  clubs,  no  game  preserves — only  a  few  fisher 
men's  hovels  along  the  Bay  of  Shoals,  and  Frigate 
Light  yonder.  .  ,  .  Then  Austin  built  Silverside  out  of 
a  much  simpler,  grand-paternal  bungalow;  then  came 
Sanxon  Orchil  and  erected  Hitherwood  House  on  the 
foundations  of  his  maternal  great-grandfather's  cabin ; 
and  then  the  others  came ;  the  Minsters  built  gorgeous 
Brookminster — you  can  just  make  out  their  big  summer 
palace — that  white  spot  beyond  Surf  Point ! — and  then 
the  Lawns  came  and  built  Southlawn ;  and,  beyond,  the 
Siowitha  people  arrived  on  scout,  land-hungry  and  rich ; 
and  the  tiny  hamlet  of  Wyossett  grew  rapidly  into  the 
town  it  now  is.  Truly  this  island  with  its  hundred  miles 
of  length  has  become  but  a  formal  garden  of  the 
wealthy.  Alas !  I  knew  it  as  a  stretch  of  woods,  dunes, 

285 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  old-time  villages  where  life  had  slumbered  for  two 
hundred  years ! " 

He  fell  silent,  but  she  nodded  him  to  go  on. 

"  Brooklyn  was  a  quiet  tree-shaded  town,"  he  con 
tinued  thoughtfully,  "  unvexed  by  dreams  of  traffic ; 
Flatbush  an  old  Dutch  village  buried  in  the  scented 
bloom  of  lilac,  locust,  and  syringa,  asleep  under  its 
ancient  gables,  hip-roofs,  and  spreading  trees.  Bath, 
Utrecht,  Canarsie,  Gravesend  were  little  more  than 
cross-road  taverns  dreaming  in  the  sun;  and  that  vile 
and  noise-cursed  island  beyond  the  Narrows  was  a 
stretch  of  unpolluted  beauty  in  an  untainted  sea — noth 
ing  but  whitest  sand  and  dunes  and  fragrant  bayberry 
and  a  blaze  of  wild  flowers.  Why  " — and  he  turned 
impatiently  to  the  girl  beside  him — "  why,  I  have  seen 
the  wild  geese  settle  in  Sheepshead  Bay,  and  the  wild 
duck  circling  over  it ;  and  I  am  not  very  aged.  Think 
of  it!  Think  of  what  this  was  but  a  few  years  ago, 
and  think  of  what  '  progress  '  has  done  to  lay  it  waste ! 
What  will  it  be  to-morrow?  " 

"  Oh — oh !  "  she  protested,  laughing ;  "  I  did  not 
suppose  you  were  that  kind  of  a  Jeremiah ! " 

"  Well,  I  am.  I  see  no  progress  in  prostrate  forests, 
in  soft-coal  smoke,  in  noise!  I  see  nothing  gained  in 
trimming  and  cutting  and  ploughing  and  macadamis 
ing  a  heavenly  wilderness  into  mincing  little  gardens 
for  the  rich."  He  was  smiling  at  his  own  vehemence, 
but  she  knew  that  he  was  more  than  half  serious. 

She  liked  him  so;  she  always  denied  and  disputed 
when  he  became  declamatory,  though  usually,  in  her 
heart,  she  agreed  with  him. 

« Oh — oh !  "  she  protested,  shaking  her  head ; 
"  your  philosophy  is  that  of  all  reactionaries — emo 
tional  arguments  which  never  can  be  justified.  Why, 

286 


SILVEBSIDE 


if  the  labouring  man  delights  in  the  harmless  hurdy- 
gurdy  and  finds  his  pleasure  mounted  on  a  wooden 
horse,  should  you  say  that  the  island  of  his  delight  is 
6  vile '  ?  All  fulfilment  of  harmless  happiness  is  prog 
ress,  my  poor  friend " 

"  But  my  harmless  happiness  lay  in  seeing  the  wild 
fowl  splashing  where  nothing  splashes  now  except  beer 
and  the  bathing  rabble.  If  progress  is  happiness — 
where  is  mine  ?  Gone  with  the  curlew  and  the  wild  duck ! 
Therefore,  there  is  no  progress.  Quod  erat,  my  illogical 
friend." 

"  But  your  happiness  in  such  things  was  an  excep 
tion " 

"  Exceptions  prove  anything !  " 

"  Yes — but — no,  they  don't,  either !  What  nonsense 
you  can  talk  when  you  try  to.  ...  As  for  me  I'm 
going  down  to  the  Brier  Water  to  look  into  it.  If  there 
are  any  trout  there  foolish  enough  to  bite  at  those 
gaudy-feathered  hooks  I'll  call  you " 

"  I'm  going  with  you,"  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet. 
She  smilingly  ignored  his  offered  hands  and  sprang 
erect  unaided. 

The  Brier  Water,  a  cold,  deep,  leisurely  stream,  de 
served  its  name.  Rising  from  a  small  spring-pond 
almost  at  the  foot  of  Silverside  lawn,  it  wound  away 
through  tangles  of  bull-brier  and  wild-rose,  under 
arches  of  weed  and  grass  and  clustered  thickets  of  mint, 
north  through  one  of  the  strange  little  forests  where 
it  became  a  thread  edged  with  a  duck-haunted  bog,  then 
emerging  as  a  clear  deep  stream  once  more  it  curved 
sharply  south,  recurved  north  again,  and  flowed  into 
Shell  Pond  which,  in  turn,  had  an  outlet  into  the  Sound 
a  mile  east  of  Wonder  Head. 

If  anybody  ever  haunted  it  with  hostile  designs  upon 
287 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


its  fishy  denizens,  Austin  at  least  never  did.  Belted 
kingfisher,  heron,  mink,  and  perhaps  a  furtive  small 
boy  with  pole  and  sinker  and  barnyard  worm — these 
were  the  only  foes  the  trout  might  dread.  As  for  a  man 
and  a  fly-rod,  they  knew  him  not,  nor  was  there  much 
chance  for  casting  a  line,  because  the  water  everywhere 
flowed  under  weeds,  arched  thickets  of  brier  and  grass, 
and  leafy  branches  criss-crossed  above. 

"  This  place  is  impossible,"  said  Selwyn  scornfully. 
"  What  is  Austin  about  to  let  it  all  grow  up  and  run 
wild " 

"  You  said"  observed  Eileen,  "  that  you  preferred 
an  un trimmed  wilderness  ;  didn't  you  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  reeled  in  his  line  until  only  six 
inches  of  the  gossamer  leader  remained  free.  From 
this  dangled  a  single  silver-bodied  fly,  glittering  in 
the  wind. 

"  There's  a  likely  pool  hidden  under  those  briers," 
he  said ;  "  I'm  going  to  poke  the  tip  of  my  rod  under — 
this  way —  Hah !  "  as  a  heavy  splash  sounded  from 
depths  unseen  and  the  reel  screamed  as  he  struck. 

Up  and  down,  under  banks  and  over  shallows  rushed 
the  invisible  fish;  and  Selwyn  could  do  nothing  for  a 
while  but  let  him  go  when  he  insisted,  and  check  and  re 
cover  when  the  fish  permitted. 

Eileen,  a  spray  of  green  mint  between  her  vivid  lips, 
watched  the  performance  with  growing  interest ;  but 
when  at  length  a  big,  fat,  struggling  speckled  trout 
was  cautiously  but  successfully  lifted  out  into  the  grass, 
she  turned  her  back  until  the  gallant  fighter  had  de 
parted  this  life  under  a  merciful  whack  from  a  stick. 

"That,"  she  said  faintly,  "is  the  part  I  don't 
care  for.  ...  Is  he  out  of  all  pain?  .  .  .  What? 
Didn't  feel  any?  Oh,  are  you  quite  sure?  " 

288 


Eileen  watched  the  performance  with  growing  interest." 


SILVERSIDE 


She  walked  over  to  him  and  looked  down  at  the 
beautiful  victim  of  craft. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  sighed,  "  you  are  very  clever,  of 
course,  and  I  suppose  I'll  eat  him;  but  I  wish  he  were 
alive  again,  down  there  in  those  cool,  sweet  depths." 

"  Killing  frogs  and  insects  and  his  smaller  brother 
fish?" 

"Did  he  do  that?" 

"No  doubt  of  it.  And  if  I  hadn't  landed  him, 
a  heron  or  a  mink  would  have  done  it  sooner  or  later. 
That's  what  a  trout  is  for :  to  kill  and  be  killed." 

She  smiled,  then  sighed.  The  taking  of  life  and 
the  giving  of  it  were  mysteries  to  her.  She  had  never 
wittingly  killed  anything. 

"Do  you  say  that  it  doesn't  hurt  the  trout?" 
she  asked. 

"  There  are  no  nerves  in  the  jaw  muscles  of  a 
trout —  Hah !  "  as  his  rod  twitched  and  swerved  under 
water  and  his  reel  sang  again. 

And  again  she  watched  the  performance,  and  once 
more  turned  her  back. 

"  Let  me  try,"  she  said,  when  the  coup-de-grace  had 
been  administered  to  a  lusty,  brilliant-tinted  bull 
trout.  And,  rod  in  hand,  she  bent  breathless  and  in 
tent  over  the  bushes,  cautiously  thrusting  the  tip 
through  a  thicket  of  mint. 

She  lost  two  fish,  then  hooked  a  third — a  small 
one;  but  when  she  lifted  it  gasping  into  the  sunlight, 
she  shivered  and  called  to  Selwyn : 

"  Unhook  it  and  throw  it  back !  I — I  simply  can't 
stand  that !  " 

Splash !  went  the  astonished  trout ;  and  she  sighed 
her  relief. 

"  There's  no  doubt  about  it,"  she  said,  "  you  and 
289 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I  certainly  do  belong  to  different  species  of  the  same 
genus;  men  and  women  are  separate  species.  Do  you 
deny  it?" 

"  I  should  hate  to  lose  you  that  way,"  he  returned 
teasingly. 

"  Well,  you  can't  avoid  it.  I  gladly  admit  that 
woman  is  not  too  closely  related  to  man.  We  don't 
like  to  kill  things;  it's  an  ingrained  distaste,  not 
merely  a  matter  of  ethical  philosophy.  You  like  to 
kill;  and  it's  a  trait  common  also  to  children  and  other 
predatory  animals.  Which  fact,"  she  added  airily, 
"  convinces  me  of  woman's  higher  civilisation." 

"  It  would  convince  me,  too,"  he  said,  "  if  woman 
didn't  eat  the  things  that  man  kills  for  her." 

"  I  know ;  isn't  it  horrid !  Oh,  dear,  we're  neither 
of  us  very  high  in  the  scale  yet — particularly  you." 

"  Well,  I've  advanced  some  since  the  good  old  days 
when  a  man  went  wooing  with  a  club,"  he  suggested. 

"  You  may  have.  But,  anyway,  you  don't  go 
wooing.  As  for  man  collectively,  he  has  not  pro 
gressed  so  very  far,"  she  added  demurely.  "  As  an 
example,  that  dreadful  Draymore  man  actually  hurt 
my  wrist." 

Selwyn  looked  up  quickly,  a  shade  of  frank  an 
noyance  on  his  face  and  a  vision  of  the  fat  sybarite 
before  his  eyes.  He  turned  again  to  his  fishing,  but 
his  shrug  was  more  of  a  shudder  than  appeared  to  be 
complimentary  to  Percy  Draymore. 

She  had  divined,  somehow,  that  it  annoyed  Selwyn 
to  know  that  men  had  importuned  her.  She  had  told 
him  of  her  experience  as  innocently  as  she  had  told 
Nina,  and  with  even  less  embarrassment.  But  that  had 
been  long  ago;  and  now,  without  any  specific  reason, 
she  was  not  certain  that  she  had  acted  wisely,  although 

290 


SILVEESIDE 


it  always  amused  her  to  see  Selwyn's  undisguised  im 
patience  whenever  mention  was  made  of  such  incidents. 

So,  to  torment  him,  she  said :  "  Of  course  it  is 
somewhat  exciting  to  be  asked  to  marry  people  — 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise " 

"  What !  " 

Waist  deep  in  bay-bushes  he  turned  toward  her 
where  she  sat  on  the  trunk  of  an  oak  which  had  fallen 
across  the  stream.  Her  arms  balanced  her  body;  her 
ankles  were  interlocked.  She  swung  her  slim  russet- 
shod  feet  above  the  brook  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
touch  of  gaminerw  new  to  her  and  to  him. 

"  Of  course  it's  amusing  to  be  told  you  are  the 
only  woman  in  the  world,"  she  said,  "  particularly 
when  a  girl  has  a  secret  fear  that  men  don't  consider 
her  quite  grown  up." 

"  You  once  said,"  he  began  impatiently,  "  that  the 
idiotic  importunities  of  those  men  annoyed  you." 

"  Why  do  you  call  them  idiotic  ?  " — with  pretence 
of  hurt  surprise.  "  A  girl  is  honoured " 

"Oh,  bosh!" 

"  Captain  Selwyn  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  sulkily ;  and  fumbled 
with  his  reel. 

She  surveyed  him,  head  a  trifle  on  one  side — the 
very  incarnation  of  youthful  malice  in  process  of  sat 
isfying  a  desire  for  tormenting.  Never  before  had  she 
experienced  that  desire  so  keenly,  so  unreasoningly ; 
never  before  had  she  found  such  a  curious  pleasure  in 
punishing  without  cause.  A  perfectly  inexplicable  ex 
hilaration  possessed  her — a  gaiety  quite  reasonless, 
until  every  pulse  in  her  seemed  singing  with  laughter 
and  quickening  with  the  desire  for  his  torment. 

"  When  I  pretended  I  was  annoyed  by  what  men 
291 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I  certainly  do  belong  to  different  species  of  the  same 
genus;  men  and  women  are  separate  species.  Do  you 
deny  it?" 

"  I  should  hate  to  lose  you  that  way,"  he  returned 
teasingly. 

"  Well,  you  can't  avoid  it.  I  gladly  admit  that 
woman  is  not  too  closely  related  to  man.  We  don't 
like  to  kill  things;  it's  an  ingrained  distaste,  not 
merely  a  matter  of  ethical  philosophy.  You  like  to 
kill ;  and  it's  a  trait  common  also  to  children  and  other 
predatory  animals.  Which  fact,"  she  added  airily, 
"  convinces  me  of  woman's  higher  civilisation." 

"  It  would  convince  me,  too,"  he  said,  "  if  woman 
didn't  eat  the  things  that  man  kills  for  her." 

"  I  know ;  isn't  it  horrid !  Oh,  dear,  we're  neither 
of  us  very  high  in  the  scale  yet — particularly  you." 

"  Well,  I've  advanced  some  since  the  good  old  days 
when  a  man  went  wooing  with  a  club,"  he  suggested. 

"  You  may  have.  But,  anyway,  you  don't  go 
wooing.  As  for  man  collectively,  he  has  not  pro 
gressed  so  very  far,"  she  added  demurely.  "  As  an 
example,  that  dreadful  Draymore  man  actually  hurt 
my  wrist." 

Selwyn  looked  up  quickly,  a  shade  of  frank  an 
noyance  on  his  face  and  a  vision  of  the  fat  sybarite 
before  his  eyes.  He  turned  again  to  his  fishing,  but 
his  shrug  was  more  of  a  shudder  than  appeared  to  be 
complimentary  to  Percy  Draymore. 

She  had  divined,  somehow,  that  it  annoyed  Selwyn 
to  know  that  men  had  importuned  her.  She  had  told 
him  of  her  experience  as  innocently  as  she  had  told 
Nina,  and  with  even  less  embarrassment.  But  that  had 
been  long  ago ;  and  now,  without  any  specific  reason, 
she  was  not  certain  that  she  had  acted  wisely,  although 

290 


SILFERSIDE 


it  always  amused  her  to  see  Selwyn's  undisguised  im 
patience  whenever  mention  was  made  of  such  incidents. 

So,  to  torment  him,  she  said :  "  Of  course  it  is 
somewhat  exciting  to  be  asked  to  marry  people  — 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise " 

"What!" 

Waist  deep  in  bay-bushes  he  turned  toward  her 
where  she  sat  on  the  trunk  of  an  oak  which  had  fallen 
across  the  stream.  Her  arms  balanced  her  body;  her 
ankles  were  interlocked.  She  swung  her  slim  russet- 
shod  feet  above  the  brook  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
touch  of  gaminerie  new  to  her  and  to  him. 

"  Of  course  it's  amusing  to  be  told  you  are  the 
only  woman  in  the  world,"  she  said,  "  particularly 
when  a  girl  has  a  secret  fear  that  men  don't  consider 
her  quite  grown  up." 

"  You  once  said,"  he  began  impatiently,  "  that  the 
idiotic  importunities  of  those  men  annoyed  you." 

"  Why  do  you  call  them  idiotic  ?  " — with  pretence 
of  hurt  surprise.  "  A  girl  is  honoured " 

"Oh,  bosh!" 

"  Captain  Selwyn !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  sulkily ;  and  fumbled 
with  his  reel. 

She  surveyed  him,  head  a  trifle  on  one  side — the 
very  incarnation  of  youthful  malice  in  process  of  sat 
isfying  a  desire  for  tormenting.  Never  before  had  she 
experienced  that  desire  so  keenly,  so  unreasoningly ; 
never  before  had  she  found  such  a  curious  pleasure  in 
punishing  without  cause.  A  perfectly  inexplicable  ex 
hilaration  possessed  her — a  gaiety  quite  reasonless, 
until  every  pulse  in  her  seemed  singing  with  laughter 
and  quickening  with  the  desire  for  his  torment. 

"  When  I  pretended  I  was  annoyed  by  what  men 
291 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Were  you  considering  the  advisability  of  starting 
me  overboard? "  And  he  nodded  toward  the  water 
beneath  their  feet. 

"  But  you  say  that  you  won't  let  me  throw  you 
overboard,  Captain  Selwyn !  " 

"  I  mean  it,  too,"  he  returned. 

"  And  I'm  not  to  marry  that  nice  young  man  ?  " — 
mockingly  sweet.  "  No  ?  What ! — not  anybody  at  all 
— ever  and  ever  ?  " 

"  Me,"  he  suggested,  "  if  you're  as  thoroughly  de 
moralised  as  that." 

"  Oh !  Must  a  girl  be  pretty  thoroughly  demor 
alised  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  she'd  do  it  if  she  wasn't,"  he 
admitted,  laughing. 

She  considered  him,  head  on  one  side: 

"  You  are  ornamental,  anyway,"  she  concluded. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said,  lifting  the  leader  from  the 
water  to  inspect  it,  "  will  you  have  me?  " 

"  Oh,  but  is  there  nothing  to  recommend  you  ex 
cept  your  fatal  beauty  ?  " 

"  My  moustache,"  he  ventured ;  "  it's  considered 
very  useful  when  I'm  mentally  perplexed." 

"  It's  clipped  too  close ;  I  have  told  you  again 
and  again  that  I  don't  care  for  it  clipped  like  that. 
Your  mind  would  be  a  perfect  blank  if  you  couldn't 
get  hold  of  it." 

"  And  to  become  imbecile,"  he  said,  "  I've  only  to 
shave  it." 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  her  clear  laughter 
thrilled  the  silence.  He  laughed,  too,  and  sat  with 
elbows  on  his  thighs,  dabbling  the  crinkled  leader  to 
and  fro  in  the  pool  below. 

"  So  you  won't  have  me?  "  he  said. 


SILFERSIDE 


"  You  haven't  asked  me — have  you?  " 

"Well,  I  do  now." 

She  mused,  the  smile  resting  lightly  on  lips  and  eyes. 

"  Wouldn't  such  a  thing  astonish  Nina !  "  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer ;  a  slight  colour  tinged  the  new 
sunburn  on  his  cheeks. 

She  laughed  to  herself,  clasped  her  hands,  crossed 
her  slender  feet,  and  bent  her  eyes  on  the  pool  below. 

"  Marriage,"  she  said,  pursuing  her  thoughts 
aloud,  "  is  curiously  unnecessary  to  happiness.  Take 
our  pleasure  in  each  other,  for  example.  It  has,  from 
the  beginning,  been  perfectly  free  from  silliness  and 
sentiment." 

"  Naturally,"  he  said.  "  I'm  old  enough  to  be 
safe." 

"  You  are  not !  "  she  retorted.  "  What  a  ridicu 
lous  thing  to  say !  " 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  "I'm  dreadfully  unsafe, 
but  yet  you've  managed  to  escape.  Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  You  are  attractive  to  women !  I've 
heard  that  often  enough  to  be  convinced.  Why,  even 
I  can  see  what  attracts  them " — she  turned  to  look 
at  him — "  the  way  your  head  and  shoulders  set — and 
— well,  the — rest.  .  .  .  It's  rather  superior  of  me  to 
have  escaped  sentiment,  don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  do.  Few — few  escape  where  many  meet 
to  worship  at  my  frisky  feet,  and  this  I  say  without 
conceit  is  due  to  my  mustachios.  Tangled  in  those  like 
web-tied  flies,  imprisoned  hearts  complain  in  sighs — 
in  fact,  the  situation  vies  with  moments  in  Boccaccio." 

Her  running  comment  was  her  laughter,  ringing 
deliciously  amid  the  trees  until  a  wild  bird,  restlessly 
attentive,  ventured  a  long,  sweet  response  from  the 
tangled  green  above  them. 

20  295 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


After  their  laughter  the  soberness  of  reaction  left 
them  silent  for  a  while.  The  wild  bird  sang  and  sang, 
dropping  fearlessly  nearer  from  branch  to  branch, 
until  in  his  melody  she  found  the  key  to  her  dreamy 
thoughts. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "  you  are  so  unconscious  of 
your  own  value,  I  like  you  best,  I  think.  I  never  be 
fore  quite  realised  just  what  it  was  in  you." 

"  My  value,"  he  said,  "  is  what  you  care  to  make 
it." 

"  Then  nobody  can  afford  to  take  you  away  from 
me,  Captain  Selwyn." 

He  flushed  with  pleasure :  "  That  is  the  prettiest 
thing  a  woman  ever  admitted  to  a  man,"  he  said. 

"  You  have  said  nicer  things  to  me.  That  is  your 
reward,  I  wonder  if  you  remember  any  of  the  nice 
things  you  say  to  me?  Oh,  don't  look  so  hurt  and 
astonished — because  I  don't  believe  you  do.  .  .  .  Isn't 
it  jolly  to  sit  here  and  let  life  drift  past  us?  Out 
there  in  the  world  " — she  nodded  backward  toward  the 
open — "  out  yonder  all  that  *  progress  '  is  whirling 
around  the  world,  and  here  we  sit — just  you  and  I — 
quite  happily,  swinging  our  feet  in  perfect  content 
and  talking  nonsense.  .  .  .  What  more  is  there  after 
all  than  a  companionship  that  admits  both  sense  and 
nonsense?  " 

She  laughed,  turning  her  chin  on  her  shoulder  to 
glance  at  him;  and  when  the  laugh  had  died  out  she 
still  sat  lightly  poised,  chin  nestling  in  the  hollow 
of  her  shoulder,  considering  him  out  of  friendly  beau 
tiful  eyes  in  which  no  mockery  remained. 

"  What  more  is  there  than  our  confidence  in  each 
other  and  our  content  ?  "  she  said. 

And,  as  he  did  not  respond :  "  I  wonder  if  you 
296 


SILVERSIDE 


realise  how  perfectly  lovely  you  have  been  to  me  since 
you  have  come  into  my  life?  Do  you?  Do  you  re 
member  the  first  day — the  very  first — how  I  sent  word 
to  you  that  I  wished  you  to  see  my  first  real  dinner 
gown?  Smile  if  you  wish —  Ah,  but  you  don't,  you 
don't  understand,  my  poor  friend,  how  much  you  be 
came  to  me  in  that  little  interview.  .  .  .  Men's  kind 
ness  is  a  strange  thing;  they  may  try  and  try,  and 
a  girl  may  know  they  are  trying  and,  in  her  turn, 
try  to  be  grateful.  But  it  is  all  effort  on  both 
sides.  Then — with  a  word — an  impulse  born  of 
chance  or  instinct — a  man  may  say  and  do  that 
which  a  woman  can  never  forget — and  would  not  if 
she  could.5' 

"Have  I  done— that?" 

"Yes.  Didn't  you  understand?  Do  you  suppose 
any  other  man  in  the  world  could  have  what  you  have 
had  of  me — of  my  real  self?  Do  you  suppose  for  one 
instant  that  any  other  man  than  you  could  ever  obtain 
from  me  the  confidence  I  offer  you  unasked?  Do  I 
not  tell  you  everything  that  enters  my  head  and  heart? 
Do  you  not  know  that  I  care  for  you  more  than  for 
anybody  alive  ?  " 

«  Gerald " 

She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes;  her  breath 
caught,  but  she  steadied  her  voice: 

"  I've  got  to  be  truthful,"  she  said ;  "  I  care  for 
you  more  than  for  Gerald." 

"  And  I  for  you  more  than  anybody  living,"  he 
said. 

"Is   it  true?" 

"It  is  the  truth,  Eileen." 

*  You — you   make   me   very   happy,    Captain    Sel- 
wyn." 

297 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  But — did  you  not  know  it  before  I  told  you?  " 

"  I — y-yes ;  I  hoped  so."  In  the  exultant  reaction 
from  the  delicious  tension  of  avowal  she  laughed 
lightly,  not  knowing  why. 

"  The  pleasure  in  it,"  she  said,  "  is  the  certainty 
that  I  am  capable  of  making  you  happy.  You  have  no 
idea  how  I  desire  to  do  it.  I've  wanted  to  ever  since 
I  knew  you — I've  wanted  to  be  capable  of  doing  it. 
And  you  tell  me  that  I  do;  and  I  am  utterly  and 
foolishly  happy."  The  quick  mischievous  sparkle  of 
gammerie  flashed  up,  transforming  her  for  an  instant 
— "  Ah,  yes ;  and  I  can  make  you  unhappy,  too,  it 
seems,  by  talking  of  marriage!  That,  too,  is  some 
thing — a  delightful  power — but  " — the  malice  dying  to 
a  spark  in  her  brilliant  eyes — "  I  shall  not  torment  you, 
Captain  Selwyn.  Will  it  make  you  happier  if  I  say, 
*  No ;  I  shall  never  marry  as  long  as  I  have  you '  ? 
Will  it  really  ?  Then  I  say  it ;  never,  never  will  I  marry 
as  long  as  I  have  your  confidence  and  friendship.  .  .  . 
But  I  want  it  all ! — every  bit,  please.  And  if  ever  there 
is  another  woman — if  ever  you  fall  in  love! — crack! — 
away  I  go  " — she  snapped  her  white  fingers — "  like 
that !  "  she  added,  "  only  quicker !  Well,  then !  Be  very, 
very  careful,  my  friend!  ...  I  wish  there  were  some 
place  here  where  I  could  curl  up  indefinitely  and  listen 
to  your  views  on  life.  You  brought  a  book  to  read, 
didn't  you?" 

He  gave  her  a  funny  embarrassed  glance :  "  Yes ; 
I  brought  a  sort  of  a  book." 

"  Then  I'm  all  ready  to  be  read  to,  thank  you.  .  .  . 
Please  steady  me  while  I  try  to  stand  up  on  this 
log — one  hand  will  do " 

Scarcely  in  contact  with  him  she  crossed  the  log, 
sprang  blithely  to  the  ground,  and,  lifting  the  hem 

298 


SILVEESIDE 


of  her  summer  gown  an  inch  or  two,  picked  her  way 
toward  the  bank  above. 

"  We  can  see  Nina  when  she  signals  us  from  the 
lawn  to  come  to  luncheon,"  she  said,  gazing  out  across 
the  upland  toward  the  silvery  tinted  hillside  where 
Silverside  stood,  every  pane  glittering  with  the  white 
eastern  sunlight. 

In  the  dry,  sweet  grass  she  found  a  place  for  a 
nest,  and  settled  into  it,  head  prone  on  a  heap  of 
scented  bay  leaves,  elbows  skyward,  and  fingers  linked 
across  her  chin.  One  foot  was  hidden,  the  knee,  doubled, 
making  a  tent  of  her  white  skirt,  from  an  edge  of 
which  a  russet  shoe  projected,  revealing  the  contour 
of  a  slim  ankle. 

"What  book  did  you  bring?  "  she  asked  dreamily. 

He  turned  red:  "It's — it's  just  a  chapter  from 
a  little  book  I'm  trying  to  write — a — a  sort  of  sug 
gestion  for  the  establishment  of  native  regiments  in  the 
Philippines.  I  thought,  perhaps,  you  might  not  mind 
listening " 

Her  delighted  surprise  and  quick  cordiality  quite 
overwhelmed  him,  so,  sitting  flat  on  the  grass,  hat  off 
and  the  hill  wind  furrowing  his  bright  crisp  hair,  he 
began,  naively,  like  a  schoolboy ;  and  Eileen  lay  watch 
ing  him,  touched  and  amused  a.t  his  eager  interest 
in  reading  aloud  to  her  this  mass  of  co-ordinated  fact 
and  detail. 

There  was,  in  her,  one  quality  to  which  he  had 
never  appealed  in  vain — her  loyalty.  Confident  of 
that,  and  of  her  intelligence,  he  wasted  no  words  in 
preliminary  explanation,  but  began  at  once  his  argu 
ment  in  favour  of  a  native  military  establishment 
erected  on  the  general  lines  of  the  British  organisa 
tion  in  India. 

299 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


He  wrote  simply  and  without  self-consciousness ; 
loyalty  aroused  her  interest,  intelligence  sustained  it; 
and  when  the  end  came,  it  came  too  quickly  for  her, 
and  she  said  so  frankly,  which  delighted  him. 

At  her  invitation  he  outlined  for  her  the  succeed 
ing  chapters  with  terse  military  accuracy;  and  what 
she  liked  best  and  best  understood  was  avoidance  of 
that  false  modesty  which  condescends,  turning  techni 
cality  into  pabulum. 

Lying  there  in  the  fragrant  verdure,  blue  eyes 
skyward  or  slanting  sideways  to  watch  his  face,  she 
listened,  answered,  questioned,  or  responded  by  turns ; 
until  their  voices  grew  lazyWnd  the  light  reaction  from 
things  serious  awakened  the  gaiety  always  latent  when 
they  were  together. 

"  Proceed,"  she  smiled^;  "  Arma  virumque — a  noble 
theme,  Captain  Selwyn.  Wrting  on !  " 

He  shook  his  head,  [quoting  from  "  The  Dedica 
tion":  r^ 

"  Arms  artd_tfte  Man ! 
A  noble  tftemel  ween ! 
Alas  !  I  cantoot^  sing  of  these,  Eileen  ; 
Only  (rfsmaio^nd  men  and  meadow-grass, 
Of  sea  a^firK,efe  and  woodlands  where  I  pass — 
Nothing  5\Hj;)iese  I  know,  Eileen — alas  ! 

Clear  eyes,  that  lifted  up  to  me 
Free  heart  and  soul  of  vanity  ; 
Blue  eyes,  that  speak  so  wistfully — 
Nothing  but  these  I  know,  alas  ! " 

She  laughed  her  acknowledgment,  and  lying  there, 
face  to  the  sky,  began  to  sing  to  herself,  under  her 
breath,  fragments  of  that  ancient  war-song : 

300 


SILFERSIDE 


"  Le  bon  Roi  Dagobert 
Avait  un  grand  sabre  de  fer ; 
Le  grand  Saint  Eloi 
Lui  dit :   (  O  mon  Roi 
Votre  Majeste 
Pourrait  se  blesser  ! ' 
1  C'est  vrai/  lui  dit  le  Roi, 
'  Qu'on  me  donne  un  sabre  de  bois  ! ' ' 

"  In  that  verse,"  observed  Selwyn,  smiling,  "  lies 
the  true  key  to  the  millennium — international  disarma 
ment  and  moral  suasion." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said  lazily ;  "  the  millennium  will 
arrive  when  the  false  balance  between  man  and  woman 
is  properly  adjusted — not  before.  And  that  means 
universal  education.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  hear  that  old, 
old  song,  written  two  centuries  ago — the  *  Education 
of  Phyllis'  ?  No?  Listen  then  and  be  ashamed." 

And  lying  there,  the  back  of  one  hand  above  her 
eyes,  she  sang  in  a  sweet,  childish,  mocking  voice, 
tremulous  with  hidden  laughter,  the  song  of  Phyllis 
the  shepherdess  and  Sylvandre  the  shepherd  —  how 
Phyllis,  more  avaricious  than  sentimental,  made  Syl 
vandre  pay  her  thirty  sheep  for  one  kiss;  how,  next 
day,  the  price  shifted  to  one  sheep  for  thirty  kisses; 
and  then  the  dreadful  demoralisation  of  Phyllis : 

"  Le  lendemain,  Philis,  plus  tendre 
Fut  trop  heureuse  de  lui  rendre 
Trente  moutons  pour  un  baiser  ! 

Le  lendemain,  Philis,  peu  sage, 
Aurait  donne  moutons  et  chien 
Pour  un  baiser  que  le  volage 
A  Lisette  donnait  pour  rien  !  " 
301 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  And  there  we  are,"  said  Eileen,  sitting  up 
abruptly  and  levelling  the  pink-tipped  finger  of  ac 
cusation  at  him — "  there,  if  you  please,  lies  the  woe 
of  the  world — not  in  the  armaments  of  nations !  That 
old  French  poet  understood  in  half  a  second  more  than 
your  Hague  tribunal  could  comprehend  in  its  first 
Cathayan  cycle !  There  lies  the  hope  of  your  millennium 
— in  the  higher  education  of  the  modern  Phyllis." 

"  And  the  up-to-date  Sylvandre,"  added  Selwyn. 

"  He  knows  too  much  already,"  she  retorted,  deli 
cate  nose  in  the  air.  ..."  Hark !  Ear  to  the  ground ! 
My  atavistic  and  wilder  instincts  warn  me  that  some 
body  is  coming !  " 

"  Boots  and  Drina,"  said  Selwyn ;  and  he  hailed 
them  as  they  came  into  view  above.  Then  he  sprang 
to  his  feet,  calling  out :  "  And  Gerald,  too !  Hello,  old 
fellow !  This  is  perfectly  fine !  When  did  you  ar 
rive?  " 

"Oh,  Gerald!"  cried  Eileen,  both  hands  out 
stretched — "  it's  splendid  of  you  to  come !  Dear  fel 
low!  have  you  seen  Nina  and  Austin?  And  were  they 
not  delighted?  And  you've  come  to  stay,  haven't  you? 
There,  I  won't  begin  to  urge  you.  .  .  .  Look,  Gerald 
— look,  Boots — and  Drina,  too — only  look  at  those 
beautiful  big  plump  trout  in  Captain  Selwyn's  creel !  " 

"  Oh,  I  say !  "  exclaimed  Gerald,  "  you  didn't  take 
those  in  that  little  brook — did  you,  Philip?  Well, 
wouldn't  that  snare  you !  I'm  coming  down  here  after 
luncheon ;  I  sure  am." 

"You  will,  too,  won't  you?"  asked  Drina,  jealous 
lest  Boots,  her  idol,  miss  his  due  share  of  piscatorial 
glory.  "  If  you'll  wait  until  I  finish  my  French  I'll 
come  with  you." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Lansing  reproachfully ; 
302 


SILVERSIDE 


"  you  don't  suppose  there's  any  fun  anywhere  for  me 
without  you,  do  you?  " 

"  No,"  said  Drina  simply,  "  I  don't." 

"  Another  Phyllis  in  embryo,"  murmured  Eileen  to 
Selwyn.  "  Alas  !  for  education  !  " 

Selwyn  laughed  and  turned  to  Gerald.  "  I  hunted 
high  and  low  for  you  before  I  came  to  Silverside.  You 
found  my  note?  " 

"  Yes ;  I — I'll  explain  later,"  said  the  boy,  colour 
ing.  "  Come  ahead,  Eily ;  Boots  and  I  will  take  you 
on  at  tennis — and  Philip,  too.  We've  an  hour  or 
so  before  luncheon.  Is  it  a  go  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  his  sister,  unaware  of  Sel- 
wyn's  proficiency,  but  loyal  even  in  doubt.  And  the 
five,  walking  abreast,  moved  off  across  the  uplands 
toward  the  green  lawns  of  Silverside,  where,  under  a 
gay  lawn  parasol,  Nina  sat,  a  "  Nature  book  "  in  hand, 
the  centre  of  an  attentive  gathering  composed  of  dogs, 
children,  and  the  cat,  Kit-Ki,  blinking  her  topaz- 
tinted  eyes  in  the  sunshine. 

The  young  mother  looked  up  happily  as  the 
quintet  came  strolling  across  the  lawn :  "  Please  don't 
wander  away  again  before  luncheon,"  she  said ;  "  Ger 
ald,  I  suppose  you  are  starved,  but  you've  only 
an  hour  to  wait —  Oh,  Phil!  what  wonderful  trout! 
Children,  kindly  arise  and  admire  the  surpassing  skill 
of  your  frivolous  uncle !  "  And,  as  the  children  and 
dogs  came  crowding  around  the  opened  fish-basket  she 
said  to  her  brother  in  a  low,  contented  voice :  "  Gerald 
has  quite  made  it  up  with  Austin,  dear;  I  think  we 
have  to  thank  you,  haven't  we?  " 

"  Has  he  really  squared  matters  with  Austin  ? 
That's  good — that's  fine!  Oh,  no,  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it — practically  nothing.  The  boy  is  sound 

303 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


at  the  core — that's  what  did  it."  And  to  Gerald,  who 
was  hailing  him  from  the  veranda,  "  Yes,  I've  plenty 
of  tennis-shoes.  Help  yourself,  old  chap." 

Eileen  had  gone  to  her  room  to  don  a  shorter 
skirt  and  rubber-soled  shoes;  Lansing  followed  her 
example;  and  Selwyn,  entering  his  own  room,  found 
Gerald  trying  on  a  pair  of  white  foot-gear. 

The  boy  looked  up,  smiled,  and,  crossing  one  knee, 
began  to  tie  the  laces: 

"  I  told  Austin  that  I  meant  to  slow  down,"  he 
said.  "  We're  on  terms  again.  He  was  fairly  de 
cent." 

"  Good  business  !  "  commented  Selwyn  vigorously. 

"  And  I'm  cutting  out  cards  and  cocktails,"  con 
tinued  the  boy,  eager  as  a  little  lad  who  tells  how 
good  he  has  been  all  day — "  I  made  it  plain  to  the 
fellows  that  there  was  nothing  in  it  for  me.  And, 
Philip,  I'm  boning  down  like  thunder  at  the  office — 
I'm  horribly  in  debt  and  I'm  hustling  to  pay  up  and 
make  a  clean  start.  You,"  he  added,  colouring,  "  will 
come  first " 

"  At  your  convenience,"  said  Selwyn,  smiling. 

"  Not  at  all !  Yours  is  the  first  account  to  be 
squared;  then  Neergard " 

"  Do  you  owe  him,  Gerald?  " 

"Do  I?  Oh,  Lord!  But  he's  a  patient  soul— 
really,  Philip,  I  wish  you  didn't  dislike  him  so  thor 
oughly,  because  he's  good  company  and  besides  that 
he's  a  very  able  man.  .  .  .  Well,  we  won't  talk  about 
him,  then.  Come  on;  I'll  lick  the  very  life  out  of 
you  over  the  net !  " 

A  few  moments  later  the  white  balls  were  flying 
over  the  white  net,  and  active  white-flannelled  figures 
were  moving  swiftly  over  the  velvet  turf. 

304 


SILVERSIDE 


Drina,  aloft  on  the  umpire's  perch,  calmly  scored 
and  decided  each  point  impartially,  though  her  little 
heart  was  beating  fast  in  desire  for  her  idol's  su 
premacy;  and  it  was  all  her  official  composure  could 
endure  to  see  how  Eileen  at  the  net  beat  down  his 
defence,  driving  him  with  her  volleys  to  the  service 
line. 

Selwyn's  game  proved  to  be  steady,  old-fashioned, 
but  logical;  Eileen,  sleeves  at  her  elbows,  red-gold 
hair  in  splendid  disorder,  carried  the  game  through 
Boots  straight  at  her  brother — and  the  contest  was 
really  a  brilliant  duel  between  them,  Lansing  and  Sel- 
wyn  assisting  when  a  rare  chance  came  their  way.  The 
pace  was  too  fast  for  them,  however;  they  were  in  a 
different  class  and  they  knew  it ;  and  after  two  ter 
rific  sets  had  gone  against  Gerald  and  Boots,  the 
latter,  signalling  Selwyn,  dropped  out  and  climbed  up 
beside  Drina  to  watch  a  furious  single  between  Eileen 
and  Gerald. 

"  Oh,  Boots,  Boots !  "  said  Drina,  "  why  didn't  you 
stay  forward  and  kill  her  drives  and  make  her  lob?  I 
just  know  you  could  do  it  if  you  had  only  thought 
to  play  forward!  What  on  earth  was  the  matter?" 

"  Age,"  said  Mr.  Lansing  serenely — "  decrepitude, 
Drina.  I  am  a  Was,  sweetheart,  but  Eileen  still  re 
mains  an  Is." 

"  I  won't  let  you  say  it !  You  are  not  a  Was !  " 
said  the  child  fiercely.  "  After  luncheon  you  can  take 
me  on  for  practice.  Then  you  can  just  give  it  to 
her!" 

"  It  would  gratify  me  to  hand  a  few  swift  ones 
to  somebody,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  that  demon  girl, 
yonder !  She's  hammering  Gerald  to  the  service  Line ! 
Oh,  my,  oh,  me!  I'm  only  fit  for  hat-ball  with  Billy 

305 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


or  cat's-cradle  with  Kit-Ki.  Drina,  do  you  realise 
that  I  am  nearly  thirty  ?  " 

"  Pooh !  I'm  past  thirteen.  In  five  years  I'll  be 
eighteen.  I  expect  to  marry  you  at  eighteen.  You 
promised." 

"  Sure  thing,"  admitted  Boots ;  "  I've  bought  the 
house,  you  know." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  child  gravely. 

Boots  looked  down  at  her;  she  smiled  and  laid 
her  head,  with  its  clustering  curls,  against  his  shoul 
der,  watching  the  game  below  with  the  quiet  com 
posure  of  possession. 

Their  relations,  hers  and  Lansing's,  afforded  infinite 
amusement  to  the  Gerards.  It  had  been  a  desperate 
case  from  the  very  first;  and  the  child  took  it  so 
seriously,  and  considered  her  claim  on  Boots  so  ab 
solute,  that  neither  that  young  man  nor  anybody  else 
dared  make  a  jest  of  the  affair  within  her  hearing. 

From  a  dimple-kneed,  despotic,  strenuous  young 
ster,  ruling  the  nursery  with  a  small  hand  of  iron,  in 
half  a  year  Drina  had  grown  into  a  rather  slim,  long- 
legged,  coolly  active  child;  and  though  her  hair  had 
not  been  put  up,  her  skirts  had  been  lowered,  and  shoes 
and  stockings  substituted  for  half-hose  and  sandals. 

Weighted  with  this  new  dignity  she  had  put  away 
dolls,  officially.  Unofficially  she  still  dressed,  caressed, 
forgave,  or  spanked  Rosalinda  and  Beatrice — but  she 
excluded  the  younger  children  from  the  nursery  when 
she  did  it. 

However,  the  inborn  necessity  for  mimicry  and 
romance  remained;  and  she  satisfied  it  by  writing 
stories — marvellous  ones — which  she  read  to  Boots. 
Otherwise  she  was  the  same  active,  sociable,  wholesome, 
intelligent  child,  charmingly  casual  and  inconsistent; 

306 


SILVEESIDE 


and  the  list  of  her  youthful  admirers  at  dancing- 
school  and  parties  required  the  alphabetical  classifica 
tion  of  Mr.  Lansing. 

But  Boots  was  her  own  particular  possession;  he 
was  her  chattel,  her  thing;  and  he  and  other  people 
knew  that  it  was  no  light  affair  to  meddle  with  the 
personal  property  of  Drina  Gerard. 

Her  curly  head  resting  against  his  arm,  she  was 
now  planning  his  future  movements  for  the  day: 

"  You  may  do  what  you  please  while  I'm  having 
French,"  she  said  graciously ;  "  after  that  we  will  go 
fishing  in  Brier  Water ;  then  I'll  come  home  to  practice, 
while  you  sit  on  the  veranda  and  listen ;  then  I'll  take 
you  on  at  tennis,  and  by  that  time  the  horses  will 
be  brought  around  and  we'll  ride  to  the  Falcon.  You 
won't  forget  any  of  this,  will  you?  Come  on;  Eileen 
and  Gerald  have  finished  and  there's  Dawson  to  an 
nounce  luncheon ! "  And  to  Gerald,  as  she  climbed 
down  to  the  ground :  "  Oh,  what  a  muff !  to  let  Eileen 
beat  you  six — five,  six — three!  .  .  .  Where's  my  hat? 
.  .  .  Oh,  the  dogs  have  got  it  and  are  tearing  it  to 
rags!" 

And  she  dashed  in  among  the  dogs,  slapping  right 
and  left,  while  a  facetious  dachshund  seized  the  tat 
tered  bit  of  lace  and  muslin  and  fled  at  top  speed. 

"  That  is  pleasant,"  observed  Nina ;  "  it's  her  best 
hat,  too — worn  to-day  in  your  honour,  Boots.  .  .  . 
Children!  Hands  and  faces!  There  is  Bridget  wait 
ing!  Come,  Phil;  there's  no  law  against  talking  at 
table,  and  there's  no  use  trying  to  run  an  establish 
ment  if  you  make  a  mockery  of  the  kitchen." 

Eileen,  one  bare  arm  around  her  brother's  shoul 
ders,  strolled  houseward  across  the  lawn,  switching 
the  shaven  sod  with  her  tennis-bat. 

307 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon?"  she  said 
to  Selwyn.  "  Gerald " — she  touched  her  brother's 
smooth  cheek — "  means  to  fish ;  Boots  and  Drina  are 
keen  on  it,  too;  and  Nina  is  driving  to  Wyossett  with 
the  children." 

"  And  you?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  Whatever  you  wish  " — confident  that  he  wanted 
her,  whatever  he  had  on  hand. 

"  I  ought  to  walk  over  to  Storm  Head,"  he  said, 
"  and  get  things  straightened  out." 

"Your  laboratory?"  asked  Gerald.  "Austin  told 
me  when  I  saw  him  in  town  that  you  were  going  to 
have  the  cottage  on  Storm  Head  to  make  powder  in." 

"  Only  in  minute  quantities,  Gerald,"  explained 
Selwyn;  "I  just  want  to  try  a  few  things.  .  .  .  And 
if  they  turn  out  all  right,  what  do  you  say  to  tak 
ing  a  look  in — if  Austin  approves  ?  " 

"  Oh,  please,  Gerald,"  whispered  his  sister. 

"  Do  you  really  believe  there  is  anything  in  it  ?  " 
asked  the  boy.  "  Because,  if  you  are  sure " 

"  There  certainly  is  if  I  can  prove  that  my  powder 
is  able  to  resist  heat,  cold,  and  moisture.  The  Lawn 
people  stand  ready  to  talk  matters  over  as  soon  as 
I  am  satisfied.  .  .  .  There's  plenty  of  time — but  keep 
the  suggestion  in  the  back  of  your  head,  Gerald." 

The  boy  smiled,  nodded  importantly,  and  went  off 
to  remove  the  stains  of  tennis  from  his  person;  and 
Eileen  went,  too,  turning  around  to  look  back  at 
Selwyn : 

"  Thank  you  for  asking  Gerald !  I'm  sure  he  will 
love  to  go  into  anything  you  think  safe." 

"Will  you  join  us,  too?"  he  called  back,  smil 
ingly — "  we  may  need  capital !  " 

"  I'll  remember  that !  "  she  said ;  and,  turning  once 
308 


SILVEBSIDE 


more  as  she  reached  the  landing :  "  Good-bye — until 
luncheon ! "  And  touched  her  lips  with  the  tips  of 
her  fingers,  flinging  him  a  gay  salute. 

In  parting  and  meeting — even  after  the  briefest 
of  intervals — it  was  always  the  same  with  her ;  always 
she  had  for  him  some  informal  hint  of  the  formality 
of  parting;  always  some  recognition  of  their  meet 
ing — in  the  light  touching  of  hands  as  though  the 
symbol  of  ceremony,  at  least,  was  due  to  him,  to  her 
self,  and  to  the  occasion. 

Luncheon  at  Silverside  was  anything  but  a  func 
tion — with  the  children  at  table  and  the  dogs  in  a 
semicircle,  and  the  nurses  tying  bibs  and  admonish 
ing  the  restless  or  belligerent,  and  the  wide  French 
windows  open,  and  the  sea  wind  lifting  the  curtains 
and  stirring  the  cluster  of  wild  flowers  in  the  centre 
of  the  table. 

Kit-Ki's  voice  was  gently  raised  at  intervals :  at 
intervals  some  grinning  puppy,  unable  to  longer  en 
dure  the  nourishing  odours,  lost  self-control  and 
yapped,  then  lowered  his  head,  momentarily  overcome 
with  mortification. 

All  the  children  talked  continuously,  unlimited  con 
versation  being  permitted  until  it  led  to  hostilities  or 
puppy-play.  The  elders  conducted  such  social  inter 
course  as  was  possible  under  the  conditions,  but  lunch 
eon  was  the  children's  hour  at  Silverside. 

Nina  and  Eileen  talked  garden  talk — they  both 
were  quite  mad  about  their  fruit-trees  and  flower-beds ; 
Selwyn,  Gerald,  and  Boots  discussed  stables,  golf  links, 
and  finally  the  new  business  which  Selwyn  hoped  to 
develop. 

Afterward,  when  the  children  had  been  excused, 
and  Drina  had  pulled  her  chair  close  to  Lansing's  to 

309 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


listen — and  after  that,  on  the  veranda,  when  the  men 
sat  smoking  and  Drina  was  talking  French,  and  Nina 
and  Eileen  had  gone  off  with  baskets,  trowels,  and 
priming-shears — Selwyn  still  continued  in  conference 
with  Boots  and  Gerald;  and  it  was  plain  that  his  con 
cise,  modest  explanation  of  what  he  had  accomplished 
in  his  experiments  with  Chaosite  seriously  impressed 
the  other  men. 

Boots  frankly  admitted  it :  "  Besides,"  he  said,  "  if 
the  Lawn  people  are  so  anxious  for  you  to  give  them 
first  say  in  the  matter  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't 
have  faith  in  it — enough,  I  mean,  to  be  good  to  our 
selves  by  offering  to  be  good  to  you,  Phil." 

"  Wait  until  Austin  comes  down — and  until  I've 
tried  one  or  two  new  ideas,"  said  Selwyn.  "  Nothing 
on  earth  would  finish  me  quicker  than  to  get  anybody 
who  trusted  me  into  a  worthless  thing." 

"  It's  plain,"  observed  Boots,  "  that  although  you 
may  have  been  an  army  captain  you're  no  captain  of 
industry — you're  not  even  a  non-com. !  " 

Selwyn  laughed :  "  Do  you  really  believe  that  or 
dinary  decency  is  uncommon  ?  " 

"  Look  at  Long  Island,"  returned  Boots.  "  Where 
does  the  boom  of  worthless  acreage  and  paper  cities 
land  investors  when  it  explodes  ?  " 

Gerald  had  flushed  up  at  the  turn  in  the  conversa 
tion  ;  and  Selwyn  steered  Lansing  into  other  and  safer 
channels  until  Gerald  went  away  to  find  a  rod. 

And,  as  Drina  had  finished  her  French  lesson,  she 
and  Lansing  presently  departed,  brandishing  fishing- 
rods  adorned  with  the  gaudiest  of  flies. 

The  house  and  garden  at  Silverside  seemed  to  be 
logical  parts  of  a  landscape,  which  included  uplands, 

310 


SILFERSIDE 


headlands,  sky,  and  water — a  silvery  harmonious  en 
semble,  where  the  artificial  portion  was  neither  offi 
ciously  intrusive  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  meagre  and 
insignificant. 

The  house,  a  long  two-storied  affair  with  white 
shutters  and  pillared  veranda,  was  built  of  gray 
stone;  the  garden  was  walled  with  it — a  precaution 
against  no  rougher  intruder  than  the  wind,  which  would 
have  whipped  unsheltered  flowers  and  fruit-trees  into 
ribbons. 

Walks  of  hardened  earth,  to  which  green  mould 
clung  in  patches,  wound  through  the  grounds  and 
threaded  the  three  little  groves  of  oak,  chestnut,  and 
locust,  in  the  centres  of  which,  set  in  circular  lawns, 
were  the  three  axes  of  interest — the  stone-edged  fish 
pond,  the  spouting  fountain,  and  the  ancient  ship's 
figurehead — a  wind-worn,  sea-battered  mermaid  cud 
dling  a  tiny,  finny  sea-child  between  breast  and  lips. 

Whoever  the  unknown  wood-carver  had  been  he 
had  been  an  artist,  too,  and  a  good  one ;  and  when 
the  big  China  trader,  the  First  Born,  went  to  pieces 
off  Frigate  Light,  fifty  years  ago,  this  figurehead  had 
been  cast  up  from  the  sea. 

Wandering  into  the  garden,  following  the  first 
path  at  random,  Selwyn  chanced  upon  it,  and  stood, 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  hands  in  his  pockets,  surprised  and 
charmed. 

Plunkitt,  the  head  gardener,  came  along,  trundling 
a  mowing-machine. 

"  Ain't  it  kind  'er  nice,"  he  said,  lingering.  "  When 
I  pass  here  moonlight  nights,  it  seems  like  that  baby  was 
a-smilin'  right  up  into  his  mamma's  face,  an'  that  there 
fish-tailed  girl  was  laughin'  back  at  him.  Come  here 
some  night  when  there's  a  moon,  Cap'in  Selwyn." 
21  311 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Selwyn  stood  for  a  while  listening  to  the  musical 
click  of  the  machine,  watching  the  green  shower  flying 
into  the  sunshine,  and  enjoying  the  raw  perfume  of 
juicy,  new-cut  grass ;  then  he  wandered  on  in  quest  of 
Miss  Erroll. 

Tulips,  narcissus,  hyacinths,  and  other  bulbs  were 
entirely  out  of  bloom,  but  the  earlier  herbaceous  borders 
had  come  into  flower,  and  he  passed  through  masses  of 
pink  and  ivory-tinted  peonies — huge,  heavy,  double 
blossoms,  fragrant  and  delicate  as  roses.  Patches  of 
late  iris  still  lifted  crested  heads  above  pale  sword-bladed 
leaves ;  sheets  of  golden  pansies  gilded  spaces  steeped  in 
warm  transparent  shade,  but  larkspur  and  early  rocket 
were  as  yet  only  scarcely  budded  promises;  the  phlox- 
beds  but  green  carpets ;  and  zinnia,  calendula,  poppy, 
and  coreopsis  were  symphonies  in  shades  of  green 
against  the  dropping  pink  of  bleeding-hearts  or  the 
nascent  azure  of  flax  and  spiderwort. 

In  the  rose  garden,  and  along  that  section  of  the 
wall  included  in  it,  the  rich,  dry,  porous  soil  glimmered 
like  gold  under  the  sun;  and  here  Selwyn  discovered 
Nina  and  Eileen  busily  solicitous  over  the  tender  shoots 
of  favourite  bushes.  A  few  long-stemmed  early  rose 
buds  lay  in  their  baskets ;  Selwyn  drew  one  through  his 
buttonhole  and  sat  down  on  a  wheelbarrow,  amiably  dis 
posed  to  look  on  and  let  the  others  work. 

"  Not  much !  "  said  Nina.  "  You  can  start  in  and 
'  pinch  back  '  this  prairie  climber — do  you  hear,  Phil  ? 
I  won't  let  you  dawdle  around  and  yawn  while  I'm  prick 
ing  my  fingers  every  instant !  Make  him  move,  Eileen." 

Eileen  came  over  to  him,  fingers  doubled  into  her 
palm  and  small  thumb  extended. 

"  Thorns  and  prickles,  please,"  she  said ;  and  he 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  proceeded  to  extract  them 


SILFERSIDE 


while  she  looked  down  at  her  almost  invisible  wounds, 
tenderly  amused  at  his  fear  of  hurting  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  people  are  begin 
ning  to  open  their  houses  yonder?  "  She  nodded  toward 
the  west :  "  The  Minsters  are  on  the  way  to  Brookmin- 
ster,  the  Orchils  have  already  arrived  at  Hitherwood 
House,  and  the  coachmen  and  horses  were  housed  at 
Southlawn  last  night.  I  rather  dread  the  dinners  and 
country  formality  that  always  interfere  with  the  jolly 
times  we  have;  but  it  will  be  rather  good  fun  at  the 
bathing-beach.  .  .  .  Do  you  swim  well?  But  of  course 
you  do." 

"Pretty  well;  do  you?" 

"  I'm  a  fish.  Gladys  Orchil  and  I  would  never  leave 
the  surf  if  they  didn't  literally  drag  us  home.  .  .  .  You 
know  Gladys  Orchil?  .  .  .  She's  very  nice;  so  is  Sheila 
Minster ;  you'll  like  her  better  in  the  country  than  you  do 
in  town.  Kathleen  Lawn  is  nice,  too.  Alas  !  I  see  many 
a  morning  where  Drina  and  I  twirl  our  respective 
thumbs  while  you  and  Boots  are  off  with  a  gayer  set. 
.  .  .  Oh,  don't  interrupt!  No  mortal  man  is  proof 
against  Sheila  and  Gladys  and  Kathleen — and  you're 
not  a  demi-god — are  you?  .  .  .  Thank  you  for  your 
surgery  upon  my  thumb — "  She  naively  placed  the  tip 
of  it  between  her  lips  and  looked  at  him,  standing  there 
like  a  schoolgirl  in  her  fresh  gown,  burnished  hair  loos 
ened  and  curling  in  riotous  beauty  across  cheeks  and 
ears. 

He  had  seated  himself  on  the  wheelbarrow  again; 
she  stood  looking  down  at  him,  hands  now  bracketed 
on  her  narrow  hips — so  close  that  the  fresh  fragrance 
of  her  grew  faintly  perceptible — a  delicate  atmosphere 
of  youth  mingling  with  the  perfume  of  the  young 
garden. 

313 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Nina,  basket  on  her  arm,  snipping  away  with  her 
garden  shears,  glanced  over  her  shoulder — and  went  on, 
snipping.  They  did  not  notice  how  far  away  her  agri 
cultural  ardour  led  her — did  not  notice  when  she  stood 
a  moment  at  the  gate  looking  back  at  them,  or  when 
she  passed  out,  pretty  head  bent  thoughtfully,  the 
shears  swinging  loose  at  her  girdle. 

The  prairie  rosebuds  in  Eileen's  basket  exhaled  their 
wild,  sweet  odour;  and  Selwyn,  breathing  it,  removed 
his  hat  like  one  who  faces  a  cooling  breeze,  and  looked 
up  at  the  young  girl  standing  before  him  as  though 
she  were  the  source  of  all  things  sweet  and  freshening 
in  this  opening  of  the  youngest  year  of  his  life. 

She  said,  smiling  absently  at  his  question :  "  Cer 
tainly  one  can  grow  younger ;  and  you  have  done  it  in 
a  day,  here  with  me." 

She  looked  down  at  his  hair;  it  was  bright  and  in 
clined  to  wave  a  little,  but  whether  the  lighter  colour  at 
the  temples  was  really  silvered  or  only  a  paler  tint  she 
was  not  sure. 

"  You  are  very  like  a  boy,  sometimes,"  she  said — 
"  as  young  as  Gerald,  I  often  think — especially  when 
your  hat  is  off.  You  always  look  so  perfectly  groomed : 
I  wonder — I  wonder  what  you  would  look  like  if  your 
hair  were  rumpled?  " 

"  Try  it,"  he  suggested  lazily. 

"I?  I  don't  think  I  dare— "  She  raised  her  hand, 
hesitated,  the  gay  daring  in  her  eyes  deepening  to  au 
dacity.  "Shall  I?" 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  T-touch  your  hair  ? — rumple  it  ? — as  I  would  Ger 
ald's  !  .  .  .  I'm  tempted  to — only — only " 

"What?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  couldn't.  I — it  was  only  the  temp- 
314 


SILFERSIDE 


tation  of  a  second — "  She  laughed  uncertainly.  The 
suggestion  of  the  intimacy  tinted  her  cheeks  with  its 
reaction;  she  took  a  short  step  backward;  instinct, 
blindly  stirring,  sobered  her ;  and  as  the  smile  faded  from 
eye  and  lip,  his  face  changed,  too.  And  far,  very  far 
away  in  the  silent  cells  of  his  heart  a  distant  pulse 
awoke. 

She  turned  to  her  roses  again,  moving  at  random 
among  the  bushes,  disciplining  with  middle-finger  and 
thumb  a  translucent,  amber-tinted  shoot  here  and  there. 
And  when  the  silence  had  lasted  too  long,  she  broke  it 
without  turning  toward  him : 

"  After  all,  if  it  were  left  to  me,  I  had  rather  be 
merciful  to  these  soft  little  buds  and  sprays,  and  let 
the  sun  and  the  showers  take  charge.  A  whole  cluster 
of  blossoms  left  free  to  grow  as  Fate  fashions  them! 
— Why  not?  It  is  certainly  very  officious  of  me  to 
strip  a  stem  of  its  hopes  just  for  the  sake  of  one  pam 
pered  blossom.  .  .  .  Non-interference  is  a  safe  creed, 
isn't  it?" 

But  she  continued  moving  along  among  the  bushes, 
pinching  back  here,  snipping,  trimming,  clipping  there; 
and  after  a  while  she  had  wandered  quite  beyond  speak 
ing  distance ;  and,  at  leisurely  intervals  she  straightened 
up  and  turned  to  look  back  across  the  roses  at  him — 
a  quiet,  unsmiling  gaze  in  exchange  for  his  unchanging 
eyes,  which  never  left  her. 

She  was  at  the  farther  edge  of  the  rose  garden  now 
where  a  boy  knelt,  weeding ;  and  Selwyn  saw  her  speak  to 
him  and  give  him  her  basket  and  shears ;  and  saw  the 
boy  start  away  toward  the  house,  leaving  her  leaning 
idly  above  the  sun-dial,  elbows  on  the  weather-beaten 
stone,  studying  the  carved  figures  of  the  dial.  And  every 
line  and  contour  and  curve  of  her  figure — even  the  low- 

315 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


ered  head,  now  resting  between  both  hands — summoned 
him. 

She  heard  his  step,  but  did  not  move ;  and  when  he 
leaned  above  the  dial,  resting  on  his  elbows,  beside  her, 
she  laid  her  finger  on  the  shadow  of  the  dial. 

"  Time,"  she  said,  "  is  trying  to  frighten  me.  It 
pretends  to  be  nearly  five  o'clock;  do  you  believe  it?  " 

"  Time  is  running  very  fast  with  me,"  he  said. 

"  With  me,  too ;  I  don't  wish  it  to ;  I  don't  care  for 
third  speed  forward  all  the  time." 

He  was  bending  closer  above  the  stone  dial,  striving 
to  decipher  the  inscription  on  it: 

"  Under  blue  skies 
My  shadow  lies. 
Under  gray  skies 
My  shadow  dies. 

"  If  over  me 
Two  Lovers  leaning 
Would  solve  my  Mystery 
And  read  my  Meaning, 
— Or  clear,  or  overcast  the  Skies — 
The  Answer  always  lies  within  their  Eyes. 
Look  long !    Look  long !    For  there,  and  there  alone 
Time  solves  the  Riddle  graven  on  this  Stone  ! " 

Elbows  almost  touching  they  leaned  at  ease,  idly 
reading  the  almost  obliterated  lines  engraved  there. 

"  I  never  understood  it,"  she  observed,  lightly  scorn 
ful.  "  What  occult  meaning  has  a  sun-dial  for  the 
spooney?  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  read  riddles  in  a 
strange  gentleman's  optics." 

"  The  verses,"  he  explained,  "  are  evidently  ad 
dressed  to  the  spooney,  so  why  should  you  resent 
them?" 

316 


SILFERSIDE 


"  I  don't.  ...  I  can  be  spoons,  too,  for  that  mat 
ter;  I  mean  I  could  once." 

"  But  you're  past  spooning  now,"  he  concluded. 

"  Am  I  ?  I  rather  resent  your  saying  it — your  calmly 
excluding  me  from  anything  I  might  choose  to  do,"  she 
said.  "  If  I  cared — if  I  chose — if  I  really  wanted 

"  You  could  still  spoon  ?  Impossible !  At  your 
age  ?  Nonsense !  " 

"  It  isn't  at  all  impossible.  Wait  until  there's  a 
moon,  and  a  canoe,  and  a  nice  boy  who  is  young  enough 
to  be  frightened  easily  !  " 

"  And  I,"  he  retorted,  "  am  too  old  to  be  frightened ; 
so  there's  no  moon,  no  canoe,  no  pretty  girl,  no  spooning 
for  me.  Is  that  it,  Eileen?  " 

"  Oh,  Gladys  and  Sheila  will  attend  to  you,  Captain 
Selwyn." 

"Why  Gladys  Orchil?  Why  Sheila  Minster?  And 
why  not  Eileen  Erroll?  " 

"Spoon?    With  you  I" 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  it  would 
be  poor  sport." 

There  had  been  no  change  in  his  amused  eyes,  in 
his  voice;  yet,  sensitive  to  the  imperceptible,  the  girl 
looked  up  quickly.  He  laughed  and  straightened  up ; 
and  presently  his  eyes  grew  absent  and  his  sun-burned 
hand  sought  his  moustache. 

"  Have  you  misunderstood  me?  "  she  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

"How,  child?" 

"I  don't  know.   .  .   .  Shall  we  walk  a  little?" 

When  they  came  to  the  stone  fish-pond  she  seated 
herself  for  a  moment  on  a  marble  bench,  then,  curiously 
restless,  rose  again;  and  again  they  moved  forward  at 

317 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


hazard,  past  the  spouting  fountain,  which  was  a  driven 
well,  out  of  which  a  crystal  column  of  water  rose,  geyser- 
like,  dazzling  in  the  westering  sun  rays. 

"  Nina  tells  me  that  this  water  rises  in  the  Connecti 
cut  hills,"  he  said,  "  and  flows  as  a  subterranean  sheet 
under  the  Sound,  spouting  up  here  on  Long  Island  when 
you  drive  a  well." 

She  looked  at  the  column  of  flashing  water,  nodding 
silent  assent. 

They  moved  on,  the  girl  curiously  reserved,  non-com 
municative,  head  slightly  lowered;  the  man  vague-eyed, 
thoughtful,  pacing  slowly  at  her  side.  Behind  them 
their  long  shadows  trailed  across  the  brilliant  grass. 

Traversing  the  grove  which  encircled  the  newly 
clipped  lawn,  now  fragrant  with  sun-crisped  grass-tips 
left  in  the  wake  of  the  mower,  he  glanced  up  at  the 
pretty  mermaid  mother  cuddling  her  tiny  offspring 
against  her  throat.  Across  her  face  a  bar  of  pink  sun 
light  fell,  making  its  contour  exquisite. 

"  Plunkitt  tells  me  that  they  really  laugh  at  each 
other  in  the  moonlight,"  he  said. 

She  glanced  up;  then  away  from  him: 

"  You  seem  to  be  enamoured  of  the  moonlight,"  she 
said. 

"  I  like  to  prowl  in  it." 

"  Alone?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  And— at  other  times?  " 

He  laughed :  "  Oh,  I'm  past  that,  as  you  reminded 
me  a  moment  ago." 

"  Then  you  did  misunderstand  me !  " 

"  Why,  no " 

"  Yes,  you  did !    But  I  supposed  you  knew." 

"  Knew  what,  Eileen?  " 

318 


SILFERSIDE 


"  What  I  meant." 

"  You  meant  that  I  am  hors  de  concours." 

"I  didn't!" 

66  But  I  am,  child.    I  was,  long  ago." 

She  looked  up :  "  Do  you  really  think  that,  Captain 
Selwyn?  If  you  do — I  am  glad." 

He  laughed  outright.  "  You  are  glad  that  I'm 
safely  past  the  spooning  age?  "  he  inquired,  moving 
forward. 

She  halted :  "  Yes.  Because  I'm  quite  sure  of  you 
if  you  are;  I  mean  that  I  can  always  keep  you  for 
myself.  Can't  I?" 

She  was  smiling  and  her  eyes  were  clear  and  fearless, 
but  there  was  a  wild-rose  tint  on  her  cheeks  which  deep 
ened  a  little  as  he  turned  short  in  his  tracks,  gazing 
straight  at  her. 

"  You  wish  to  keep  me — for  yourself?  "  he  repeated, 
laughing. 

"Yes,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  Until  you  marry.     Is  that  it,  Eileen?  " 

"  Yes,  until  I  marry."  / 

"  And  then  we'll  let  each  other  go;  is  that  it?  " 

"  Yes.  But  I  think  I  told  you  that  I  would  never 
marry.  Didn't  I?" 

"  Oh !  Then  ours  is  to  be  a  lifelong  and  anti-senti 
mental  contract !  "  *, 

"  Yes,  unless  you,  marry." 

"  I  promise  not  to,"  he  said,  "  unless  you  do." 

"  I  promise  not  to,"  she  said  gaily,  "  unless  you  do." 

"  There  remains,"  he  observed,  "  but  one  way  for  you 
and  I  ever  to  marry  anybody.  And  as  I'm  hors  de  con- 
cours,  even  that  hope  is  ended." 

She  flushed;  her  lips  parted,  but  she  checked  what 
she  had  meant  to  say,  and  they  walked  forward  together 

319 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


in  silence  for  a  while  until  she  had  made  up  her  mind 
what  to  say  and  how  to  express  it: 

"  Captain  Selwyn,  there  are  two  things  that  you  do 
which  seem  to  me  unfair.  You  still  have,  at  times,  that 
far-away,  absent  expression  which  excludes  me;  and 
when  I  venture  to  break  the  silence,  you  have  a  way  of 
answering,  '  Yes,  child,5  and  '  No,  child  ' — as  though 
you  were  inattentive,  and  I  had  not  yet  become  an  adult. 
That  is  my  first  complaint !  .  .  .  What  are  you  laugh 
ing  at  ?  It  is  true ;  and  it  confuses  and  hurts  me ;  be 
cause  I  know  I  am  intelligent  enough  and  old  enough  to 
— to  be  treated  as  a  woman ! — a  woman  attractive 
enough  to  be  reckoned  with!  $ut  I  never  seem  to  be 
wholly  so  to  you." 

The  laugh  died  out  as  sh< 
stood  there,  confronting  01 

"  Do  you  imagine,"  he 
do  not  know  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether$&u  do.  For  all  your  friend 
ship — for  all  your  IpimgrJ  and^y our  kindness  to  me — 
somehow — I — I  doiiU\eeNi  to  stand  with  you  as  other 

stand  their  chances." 


nded ;  for  a  moment  they 
another, 
d  in  a  low  voice.  "  that  I 


women  do  ;  I  don't 

"What  chances? 

"  The — the  cq^sktefeytion ;  you  don't  call  any  other 
woman  '  child,'  do  ]^uw  You  don't  constantly  remind 
other  women  of  t^e  dwwrence  in  your  ages,  do  you  ?  You 
don't  feel  with  otneT-'women  that  you  are — as  you  please 
to  call  it — hors  de  concours — out  of  the  running.  And 
somehow,  with  me,  it  humiliates.  Because  even  if  I — if 
I  am  the  sort  of  a  girl  who  never  means  to  marry,  you — 
your  attitude  seems  to  take  away  the  possibility  of  my 
changing  my  mind;  it  dictates  to  me,  giving  me  no 
choice,  no  liberty,  no  personal  freedom  in  the  matter. 
.  .  .  It's  as  though  you  considered  me  somehow  utterly 

320 


SILFERSIDE 


out  of  the  question — radically  unthinkable  as  a  woman. 
And  you  assume  to  take  for  granted  that  I  also  regard 
you  as — as  hors  de  concours.  .  .  .  Those  are  my  griev 
ances,  Captain  Selwyn.  .  .  .  And  I  don't  regard  you 
so.  And  I — and  it  troubles  me  to  be  excluded — to  be 
found  wanting,  inadequate  in  anything  that  a  woman 
should  be.  I  know  that  you  and  I  have  no  desire  to 
marry  each  other — but — but  please  don't  make  the  rea 
son  for  it  either  your  age  or  my  physical  immaturity 
or  intellectual  inexperience." 

Another  of  those  weather-stained  seats  of  Georgia 
marble  stood  embedded  under  the  trees  near  where  she 
had  halted ;  and  she  seated  herself,  outwardly  composed, 
and  inwardly  a  little  frightened  at  what  she  had  said. 

As  for  Selwyn,  he  remained  where  he  had  been 
standing  on  the  lawn's  velvet  edge ;  and,  raising  her  eyes 
again,  her  heart  misgave  her  that  she  had  wantonly 
strained  a  friendship  which-  had  been  all  but  perfect ; 
and  now  he  was  moving  across  the  path  toward  her — 
a  curious  look  in  his  face  which  she  could  not  interpret. 
She  looked  up  as  he  approached  and  stretched  out  her 
hand: 

"  Forgive  me,  Captain  Selwyn,"  she  said.  "  I  am  a 
child — a  spoiled  one ;  and  I  have  proved  it  to  you.  Will 
you  sit  here  beside  me  and  tell  me  very  gently  what  a 
fool  I  am  to  risk  straining  the  friendship  dearest  to  me 
in  the  whole  world?  And  will  you  fix  my  penance?  " 

*'  You  have  fixed  it  yourself,"  he  said. 

"  How?  " 

"  By  the  challenge  of  your  womanhood." 

"  I  did  not  challenge " 

"  No ;  you  defended.  You  are  right.  The  girl  I 
cared  for — the  girl  who  was  there  with  me  on  Brier 
Water — so  many,  many  centuries  ago — the  girl  who, 

321 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


years  ago,  leaned  there  beside  me  on  the  sun-dial — has 
become  a  memory." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  will  not  be  unhappy  if  I  tell  you?  " 

"  N-no." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  I  am  going  to  say, 
Eileen?" 

She  looked  up  quickly,  frightened  at  the  tremor  in 
his  voice: 

"  Don't — don't  say  it,  Captain  Selwyn  !  " 

"  Will  you  listen — as  a  penance  ?  " 

"  I — no,  I  cannot " 

He  said  quietly :  "  I  was  afraid  you  could  not  listen. 
You  see,  Eileen,  that,  after  all,  a  man  does  know  when 
he  is  done  for " 

"  Captain  Selwyn ! "  She  turned  and  caught  his 
hands  in  both  of  hers,  her  eyes  bright  with  tears :  "  Is 
that  the  penalty  for  what  I  said?  Did  you  think  I  in 
vited  this " 

"  Invited !  No,  child,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  was  fool 
enough  to  believe  in  myself;  that  is  all.  I  have  always 
been  on  the  edge  of  loving  you.  Only  in  dreams  did  I 
ever  dare  set  foot  across  that  frontier.  Now  I  have 
dared.  I  love  you.  That  is  all;  and  it  must  not  dis 
tress  you." 

u  But  it  does  not,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  always  loved 
you — dearly,  dearly.  .  .  .  Not  in  that  way.  ...  I 
don't  know  how.  .  .  .  Must  it  be  in  that  way,  Captain 
Selwyn  ?  Can  we  not  go  on  in  the  other  way — that  dear 
way  which  I — I  have — almost  spoiled  ?  Must  we  be  like 
other  people — must  sentiment  turn  it  all  to  common 
place?  .  .  .  Listen  to  me;  I  do  love  you;  it  is  perfectly 


SILFERSIDE 


easy  and  simple  to  say  it.  But  it  is  not  emotional,  it 
is  not  sentimental.  Can't  you  see  that  in  little  things — 
in  my  ways  with  you?  I — if  I  were  sentimental  about 
you  I  would  call  you  Ph — by  your  first  name,  I  suppose. 
But  I  can't ;  I've  tried  to — and  it's  very,  very  hard — and 
makes  me  self-conscious.  It  is  an  effort,  you  see — and  so 
wotild  it  be  for  me  to  think  of  you  sentimentally.  Oh, 
I  couldn't !  I  couldn't ! — you,  so  much  of  a  man,  so 
strong  and  generous  and  experienced  and  clever — so  per 
fectly  the  embodiment  of  everything  I  care  for  in  a  man ! 
I  love  you  dearly;  but — you  saw!  I  could — could  not 
bring  myself  to  touch  even  your  hair — even  in  pure  mis 
chief.  .  .  .  And — sentiment  chills  me;  I — there  are 
times  when  it  would  be  unendurable — I  could  not  use 
an  endearing  term — nor  suffer  a — a  caress.  ...  So  you 
see — don't  you?  And  won't  you  take  me  for  what  I 
am  ? — and  as  I  am  ? — a  girl — still  young,  devoted  to  you 
with  all  her  soul — happy  with  you,  believing  implicitly 
in  you,  deeply,  deeply  sensible  of  your  goodness  and 
sweetness  and  loyalty  to  her.  I  am  not  a  woman ;  I  was 
a  fool  to  say  so.  But  you — you  are  so  overwhelmingly  a 
man  that  if  it  were  in  me  to  love — in  that  way — it  would 
be  you !  .  .  .  Do  you  understand  me  ?  Or  have  I  lost  a 
friend?  Will  you  forgive  my  foolish  boast?  Can  you 
still  keep  me  first  in  your  heart — as  you  are  in  mine? 
And  pardon  in  me  all  that  I  am  not?  Can  you  do  these 
things  because  I  ask  you?  " 
"  Yes,"  he  said. 


323 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    NOVICE 

GERALD  came  to  Silverside  two  or  three  times  during 
the  early  summer,  arriving  usually  on  Friday  and  re 
maining  until  the  following  Monday  morning. 

All  his  youthful  admiration  and  friendship  for  Sel- 
wyn  had  returned ;  that  was  plainly  evident — and  with 
it  something  less  of  callow  self-sufficiency.  He  did  not 
appear  to  be  as  cock-sure  of  himself  and  the  world  as  he 
had  been ;  there  was  less  bumptiousness  about  him,  less 
aggressive  complacency.  Somewhere  and  somehow  some 
body  or  something  had  come  into  collision  with  him ;  but 
who  or  what  this  had  been  he  did  not  offer  to  confide  in 
Selwyn ;  and  the  older  man,  dreading  to  disturb  the  ex 
isting  accord  between  them,  forbore  to  question  him  or 
invite,  even  indirectly,  any  confidence  not  offered. 

Selwyn  had  slowly  become  conscious  of  this  change 
in  Gerald.  In  the  boy's  manner  toward  others  there 
seemed  to  be  hints  of  that  seriousness  which  maturity  or 
the  first  pressure  of  responsibility  brings,  even  to  the 
more  thoughtless.  Plainly  enough  some  experience,  not 
wholly  agreeable,  was  teaching  him  the  elements  of  con 
sideration  for  others ;  he  was  less  impulsive,  more  toler 
ant  ;  yet,  at  times,  Selwyn  and  Eileen  also  noticed  that  he 
became  very  restless  toward  the  end  of  his  visits  at  Sil 
verside  ;  as  though  something  in  the  city  awaited  him — 
some  duty,  or  responsibility  not  entirely  pleasant. 

324 


A    NOVICE 


There  was,  too,  something  of  soberness,  amounting, 
at  moments,  to  discontented  listlessness — not  solitary 
brooding;  for  at  such  moments  he  stuck  to  Selwyn, 
following  him  about  and  remaining  rather  close  to  him, 
as  though  the  elder  man's  mere  presence  was  a  comfort 
— even  a  protection. 

At  such  intervals  Selwyn  longed  to  invite  the  boy's 
confidence,  knowing  that  he  had  some  phase  of  life  to 
face  for  which  his  experience  was  evidently  inadequate. 
But  Gerald  gave  no  sign  of  invitation ;  and  Selwyn 
dared  not  speak  lest  he  undo  what  time  and  his  forbear 
ance  were  slowly  repairing. 

So  their  relations  remained  during  the  early  summer ; 
and  everybody  supposed  that  Gerald's  two  weeks'  vaca 
tion  would  be  spent  there  at  Silverside.  Apparently  the 
boy  himself  thought  so,  too,  for  he  made  some  plans 
ahead,  and  Austin  sent  down  a  very  handsome  new 
motor-boat  for  him. 

Then,  at  the  last  minute,  a  telegram  arrived,  saying 
that  he  had  sailed  for  Newport  on  Neergard's  big  yacht ! 
And  for  two  weeks  no  word  was  received  from  him  at 
Silverside. 

Late  in  August,  however,  he  wrote  a  rather  colour 
less  letter  to  Selwyn,  saying  that  he  was  tired  and  would 
be  down  for  the  week-end. 

He  came,  thinner  than  usual,  with  the  city  pallor 
showing  through  traces  of  the  sea  tan.  And  it  appeared 
that  he  was  really  tired ;  for  he  seemed  inclined  to  lounge 
on  the  veranda,  satisfied  as  long  as  Selwyn  remained  in 
sight.  But,  when  Selwyn  moved,  he  got  up  and  followed. 

So  subdued,  so  listless,  so  gentle  in  manner  and  speech 
had  he  become  that  somebody,  in  his  temporary  absence, 
wondered  whether  the  boy  were  perfectly  well — which 
voiced  the  general  doubt  hitherto  unexpressed. 

325 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


But  Austin  laughed  and  said  that  the  boy  was  merely 
finding  himself ;  and  everybody  acquiesced,  much  relieved 
at  the  explanation,  though  to  Selwyn  the  explanation 
was  not  at  all  satisfactory. 

There  was  trouble  somewhere,  stress  of  doubt,  pres 
sure  of  apprehension,  the  gravity  of  immaturity  half 
realising  its  own  inexperience.  And  one  day  in  Septem 
ber  he  wrote  Gerald,  asking  him  to  bring  Edgerton 
Lawn  and  come  down  to  Silverside  for  the  purpose  of 
witnessing  some  experiments  with  the  new  smokeless  ex 
plosive,  Chaosite. 

Young  Lawn  came  by  the  first  train ;  Gerald  wired 
that  he  would  arrive  the  following  morning. 

He  did  arrive,  unusually  pallid,  almost  haggard ;  and 
Selwyn,  who  met  him  at  the  station  and  drove  him  over 
from  Wyossett,  ventured  at  last  to  give  the  boy  a 
chance. 

But  Gerald  remained  utterly  unresponsive — stolidly 
so — and  the  other  instantly  relinquished  the  hope  of  any 
confidence  at  that  time — shifting  the  conversation  at  once 
to  the  object  and  reason  of  Gerald's  coming,  and  gaily 
expressing  his  belief  that  the  time  was  very  near  at  hand 
when  Chaosite  would  figure  heavily  in  the  world's  list 
of  commercially  valuable  explosives. 

It  was  early  in  August  that  Selwyn  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  his  Chaosite  was  likely  to  prove  a  com 
mercial  success.  And  now,  in  September,  his  experi 
ments  had  advanced  so  far  that  he  had  ventured  to  invite 
Austin,  Gerald,  Lansing,  and  Edgerton  Lawn,  of  the 
Lawn  Nitro-Powder  Company,  to  witness  a  few  tests  at 
his  cottage  laboratory  on  Storm  Head ;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  informed  them  with  characteristic  modesty  that 
he  was  not  yet  prepared  to  guarantee  the  explosive. 

About  noon  his  guests  arrived  before  the  cottage  in 
326 


A   NOVICE 


a  solemn  file,  halted,  and  did  not  appear  overanxious  to 
enter  the  laboratory  on  Storm  Head.  Also  they  care 
fully  cast  away  their  cigars  when  they  did  enter,  and 
seated  themselves  in  a  nervous  circle  in  the  largest  room 
of  the  cottage.  Here  their  eyes  instantly  became  glued 
to  a  great  bowl  which  was  piled  high  with  small  rose- 
tinted  cubes  of  some  substance  which  resembled  sym 
metrical  and  translucent  crystals  of  pink  quartz.  That 
was  Chaosite  enough  to  blow  the  entire  cliff  into  smith 
ereens  ;  and  they  were  aware  of  it,  and  they  eyed  it  with 
respect. 

First  of  all  Selwyn  laid  a  cubic  crystal  on  an  anvil, 
and  struck  it  sharply  and  repeatedly  with  a  hammer. 
Austin's  thin  hair  rose,  and  Edgerton  Lawn  swallowed 
nothing  several  times ;  but  nobody  went  to  heaven,  and 
the  little  cube  merely  crumbled  into  a  flaky  pink  powder. 

Then  Selwyn  took  three  cubes,  dropped  them  into 
boiling  milk,  fished  them  out  again,  twisted  them  into  a 
waxy  taper,  placed  it  in  a  candle-stick,  and  set  fire  to  it. 
The  taper  burned  with  a  flaring  brilliancy  but  without 
odour. 

Then  Selwyn  placed  several  cubes  in  a  mortar, 
pounded  them  to  powder  with  an  iron  pestle,  and,  measur 
ing  out  the  tiniest  pinch — scarcely  enough  to  cover  the 
point  of  a  penknife,  placed  a  few  grains  in  several  paper 
cartridges.  Two  wads  followed  the  powder,  then  an 
ounce  and  a  half  of  shot,  then  a  wad,  and  then  the 
crimping. 

The  guests  stepped  gratefully  outside;  Selwyn, 
using  a  light  fowling-piece,  made  pattern  after  pattern 
for  them;  and  then  they  all  trooped  solemnly  indoors 
again;  and  Selwyn  froze  Chaosite  and  boiled  it  and 
baked  it  and  melted  it  and  took  all  sorts  of  hair-raising 
liberties  with  it ;  and  after  that  he  ground  it  to  powder, 
22  327 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


placed  a  few  generous  pinches  in  a  small  hand-grenade, 
and  affixed  a  primer,  the  secret  composition  of  which  he 
alone  knew.  That  was  the  key  to  the  secret — the  com 
position  of  the  primer  charge. 

"  I  used  to  play  base-ball  in  college,"  he  observed 
smiling — "  and  I  used  to  be  a  pretty  good  shot  with  a 
snowball." 

They  followed  him  to  the  cliff's  edge,  always  with 
great  respect  for  the  awful  stuff  he  handled  with  such 
apparent  carelessness.  There  was  a  black  sea-soaked 
rock  jutting  out  above  the  waves ;  Selwyn  pointed  at  it, 
poised  himself,  and,  with  the  long,  overhand,  straight 
throw  of  a  trained  ball  player,  sent  the  grenade  like  a 
bullet  at  the  rock. 

There  came  a  blinding  flash,  a  stunning,  clean-cut 
report — but  what  the  others  took  to  be  a  vast  column  of 
black  smoke  was  really  a  pillar  of  dust — all  that  was  left 
of  the  rock.  And  this  slowly  floated,  settling  like  mist 
over  the  waves,  leaving  nothing  where  the  rock  had  been. 

"  I  think,"  said  Edgerton  Lawn,  wiping  the  start 
ing  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  "  that  you  have 
made  good,  Captain  Selwyn.  Dense  or  bulk,  your  Chao- 
site  and  impact  primer  seem  to  do  the  business;  and  I 
think  I  may  say  that  the  Lawn  Nitro-Powder  Company 
is  ready  to  do  business,  too.  Can  you  come  to  town  to 
morrow?  It's  merely  a  matter  of  figures  and  signatures 
now,  if  you  say  so.  It  is  entirely  up  to  you." 

But  Selwyn  only  laughed.    He  looked  at  Austin. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Edgerton  Lawn  good-naturedly, 
"  that  you  intend  to  make  us  sit  up  and  beg ;  or  do  you 
mean  to  absorb  us?  " 

But  Selwyn  said :  "  I  want  more  time  on  this  thing. 
I  want  to  know  what  it  does  to  the  interior  of  loaded 
shells  and  in  fixed  ammunition  when  it  is  stored  for 

328 


A   NOVICE 


a  year.  I  want  to  know  whether  it  is  necessary  to  use 
a  solvent  after  firing  it  in  big  guns.  As  a  bursting 
charge  I'm  practically  satisfied  with  it ;  but  time  is 
required  to  know  how  it  acts  on  steel  in  storage  or  on 
the  bores  of  guns  when  exploded  as  a  propelling 
charge.  Meanwhile,''  turning  to  Lawn,  "  I'm  tre 
mendously  obliged  to  you  for  coming — and  for  your 
offer.  You  see  how  it  is,  don't  you?  I  couldn't  risk 
taking  money  for  a  thing  which  might,  at  the  end, 
prove  dear  at  any  price." 

"  I  cheerfully  accept  that  risk,"  insisted  young 
Lawn ;  "  I  am  quite  ready  to  do  all  the  worrying,  Cap 
tain  Selwyn." 

But  Selwyn  merely  shook  his  head,  repeating: 
"  You  see  how  it  is,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  see  that  you  possess  a  highly  developed  con 
science,"  said  Edgerton  Lawn,  laughing ;  "  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  we  are  more  than  willing  to  take  every 
chance  of  failure " 

But  Selwyn  shook  his  head :  "  Not  yet,"  he  said ; 
"  don't  worry ;  I  need  the  money,  and  I'll  waste  no 
time  when  a  square  deal  is  possible.  But  I  ought  to 
tell  you  this:  that  first  of  all  I  must  offer  it  to  the 
Government.  That  is  only  decent,  you  see " 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  the  Government's  gratitude?  " 
broke  in  Austin.  "  Nonsense,  Phil ;  you  are  wasting 
time!" 

"  I've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Selwyn ;  "  you  must  see 
that,  of  course." 

"  But  I  don't  see  it,"  began  Lawn — "  because  you 
are  not  in  the  Government  service  now " 

"  Besides,"  added  Austin,  "  you  were  not  a  West 
Pointer ;  you  never  were  under  obligations  to  the  Gov 
ernment  !  " 

329 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Are  we  not  all  under  obligation  ?  "  asked  Selwyn 
so  simply  that  Austin  flushed. 

"  Oh,  of  course  —  patriotism  and  all  that  —  natural 
ly  —  Confound  it,  I  don't  suppose  you'd  go  and  offer 
it  to  Germany  or  Japan  before  our  own  Government 
had  the  usual  chance  to  turn  it  down  and  break  your 
heart.  But  why  can't  the  Government  make  arrange 
ments  with  Lawn's  Company  —  if  it  desires  to  ?  " 

"  A  man  can't  exploit  his  own  Government  ;  you 
all  know  that  as  well  as  I  do,"  returned  Selwyn,  smil 
ing.  Pro  aris  et  focis,  you  know  —  ex  necessitate  rei." 

"  When  the  inventor  goes  to  the  Government,"  said 
Austin,  with  a  shrug  —  "  vestigia  nulla  retrorsum" 

"  Spero  meliora"  retorted  Selwyn,  laughing  ;  but 
there  remained  the  obstinate  squareness  of  jaw,  and 
his  amused  eyes  were  clear  and  steady.  Young  Lawn 
looked  into  them  and  the  hope  in  him  flickered;  Austin 
looked,  and  shrugged;  but  as  they  all  turned  away  to 
retrace  their  steps  across  the  moors  in  the  direction 
of  Silverside,  Lansing  lightly  hooked  his  arm  into  Sel- 
wyn's;  and  Gerald,  walking  thoughtfully  on  the  other 
side,  turned  over  and  over  in  his  mind  the  proposition 
offered  him  —  the  spectacle  of  a  modern  and  needy 
man  to  whom  money  appeared  to  be  the  last  considera 
tion  in  a  plain  matter  of  business.  Also  he  turned  over 
other  matters  in  his  mind  ;  and  moved  closer  to  Selwyn, 
walking  beside  him  with  grave  eyes  bent  on  the  ground. 


The  matter  of  business  arrangements  apparently 
ended  then  and  there;  Lawn's  company  sent  several 
men  to  Selwyn  and  wrote  him  a  great  many  letters  —  • 
unlike  the  Government,  which  had  not  replied  to  his 
briefly  tentative  suggestion  that  Chaosite  be  condi 
tionally  examined,  tested,  and  considered. 

330 


A   NOVICE 


So  the  matter  remained  in  abeyance,  and  Selwyn 
employed  two  extra  men  and  continued  storage  tests 
and  experimented  with  rifled  and  smooth-bore  tubes, 
watchfully  uncertain  yet  as  to  the  necessity  of  inventing 
a  solvent  to  neutralise  possible  corrosion  after  a  pro 
pelling  charge  had  been  exploded. 

Everybody  in  the  vicinity  had  heard  about  his  ex 
periments  ;  everybody  pretended  interest,  but  few  were 
sincere ;  and  of  the  sincere,  few  were  unselfishly  in 
terested — his  sister,  Eileen,  Drina,  and  Lansing — and 
maybe  one  or  two  others. 

However,  the  younger  set,  now  predominant  from 
Wyossett  to  Wonder  Head,  made  up  parties  to  visit 
Selwyn's  cottage,  which  had  become  known  as  The 
Chrysalis ;  and  Selwyn  good-naturedly  exploded  a 
pinch  or  two  of  the  stuff  for  their  amusement,  and 
never  betrayed  the  slightest  annoyance  or  boredom.  In 
fact,  he  behaved  so  amiably  during  gratuitous  inter 
ruptions  that  he  won  the  hearts  of  the  younger  set, 
who  presently  came  to  the  unanimous  conclusion  that 
there  was  Romance  in  the  air.  And  they  sniffed  it 
with  delicate  noses  uptilted  and  liked  the  aroma. 

Kathleen  Lawn,  a  big,  leisurely,  blond-skinned  girl, 
who  showed  her  teeth  when  she  laughed  and  shook 
hands  like  a  man,  declared  him  "  adorable  "  but  "  un 
satisfactory,"  which  started  one  of  the  Dresden-china 
twins,  Dorothy  Minster,  and  she,  in  turn,  ventured  the 
innocent  opinion  that  Selwyn  was  misunderstood  by 
most  people — an  inference  that  she  herself  understood 
him.  And  she  smiled  to  herself  when  she  made  this 
observation,  up  to  her  neck  in  the  surf;  and  Eileen, 
hearing  the  remark,  smiled  to  herself,  too.  But  she 
felt  the  slightest  bit  uncomfortable  when  that  animated 
brunette  Gladvs  Orchil,  climbing  up  dripping  on  to  the 

331 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


anchored  float  beyond  the  breakers,  frankly  confessed 
that  the  tinge  of  mystery  enveloping  Selwyn's  career 
made  him  not  only  adorable,  but  agreeably  "  unfathom 
able  " ;  and  that  she  meant  to  experiment  with  him  at 
every  opportunity. 

Sheila  Minster,  seated  on  the  raft's  edge,  swinging 
her  stockinged  legs  in  the  green  swells  that  swept 
steadily  shoreward,  modestly  admitted  that  Selwyn 
was  "  sweet,"  particularly  in  a  canoe  on  a  moonlight 
night — in  spite  of  her  weighty  mother  heavily  afloat 
in  the  vicinity. 

"  He's  nice  every  minute,"  she  said — "  every  fibre 
of  him  is  nice  in  the  nicest  sense.  He  never  talks 
*  down  '  at  you — like  an  insufferable  undergraduate ; 
and  he  is  so  much  of  a  man — such  a  real  man ! — that 
I  like  him,"  she  added  naively ;  "  and  I'm  quite  sure 
he  likes  me,  because  he  said  so." 

"  I  like  him,"  said  Gladys  Orchil,  "  because  he  has 
a  sense  of  humour  and  stands  straight.  I  like  a  sense 
of  humour  and — good  shoulders.  He's  an  enigma; 
and  I  like  that,  too.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  investigate  him 
every  chance  I  get." 

Dorothy  Minster  liked  him,  too :  "  He's  such  a 
regular  boy  at  times,"  she  explained ;  "  I  do  love  to 
see  him  without  his  hat  sauntering  along  beside  me — 
and  not  talking  every  minute  when  you  don't  wish  to 
talk.  Friends,"  she  added — "  true  friends  are  most 
eloquent  in  their  mutual  silence.  Ahem !  " 

Eileen  Erroll,  standing  near  on  the  pitching  raft, 
listened  intently,  but  curiously  enough  said  nothing 
either  in  praise  or  blame. 

"  He  is  exactly  the  right  age,"  insisted  Gladys — 
as  though  somebody  had  said  he  was  not — "  the  age 
when  a  man  is  most  interesting." 

332 


A   NOVICE 


The  Minster  twins  twiddled  their  legs  and  looked 
sentimentally  at  the  ocean.  They  were  a  pair  of  pink 
and  white  little  things  with  china-blue  eyes  and  the 
fairest  of  hair,  and  they  were  very  impressionable ;  and 
when  they  thought  of  Selwyn  they  looked  unutterable 
things  at  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

One  man,  often  the  least  suitable,  is  usually  the 
unanimous  choice  of  the  younger  sort  where,  in  the 
disconcerting  summer  time,  the  youthful  congregate 
in  garrulous  segregation. 

Their  choice  they  expressed  frankly  and  inno 
cently;  they  admitted  cheerfully  that  Selwyn  was  their 
idol.  But  that  gentleman  remained  totally  unconscious 
that  he  had  been  set  up  by  them  upon  the  shores  of 
the  summer  sea. 

In  leisure  moments  he  often  came  down  to  the 
bathing-beach  at  the  hour  made  fashionable;  he  con 
ducted  himself  amiably  with  dowager  and  chaperon, 
with  portly  father  and  nimble  brother,  with  the  late 
debutantes  of  the  younger  set  and  the  younger  ma 
trons,  individually,  collectively,  impartially. 

He  and  Gerald  usually  challenged  the  rollers  in  a 
sponson  canoe  when  Gerald  was  there  for  the  week 
end;  or,  when  Lansing  came  down,  the  two  took  long 
swims  seaward  or  cruised  about  in  Gerald's  ^ory,  clad 
in  their  swimming-suits;  and  Selwyn's  youth  became 
renewed  in  a  manner  almost  ridiculous,  so  that  the 
fine  lines  which  had  threatened  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
and  eyes  disappeared,  and  the  clear  sun  tan  of  the 
tropics,  which  had  never  wholly  faded,  came  back  over 
a  smooth  skin  as  clear  as  a  boy's,  though  not  as 
smoothly  rounded.  His  hair,  too,  crisped  and  grew 
lighter  under  the  burning  sun,  which  revealed,  at  the 
temples,  the  slightest  hint  of  silver.  And  this  deep- 

333 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


ened  the  fascination  of  the  younger  sort  for  the  idol 
they  had  set  up  upon  the  sands  of  Silverside. 

Gladys  was  still  eloquent  on  the  subject,  lying  flat 
on  the  raft  where  all  were  now  gathered  in  a  wet 
row,  indulging  in  sunshine  and  the  two  minutes  of 
gossip  which  always  preceded  their  return  swim  to 
the  beach. 

"  It  is  partly  his  hair,"  she  said  gravely,  "  that 
makes  him  so  distinguished  in  his  appearance — just 
that  touch  of  silver;  and  you  keep  looking  and  look 
ing  until  you  scarcely  know  whether  it's  really  be 
ginning  to  turn  a  little  gray  or  whether  it's  only  a 
lighter  colour  at  the  temples.  How  insipid  is  a  mere 
boy  after  such  a  man  as  Captain  Selwyn !  .  .  .  I  have 
dreamed  of  such  a  man — several  times." 

The  Minster  twins  gazed  soulfully  at  the  Atlantic ; 
Eileen  Erroll  bit  her  under  lip  and  stood  up  suddenly. 
"Come  on,"  she  said;  joined  her  hands  skyward, 
poised,  and  plunged.  One  after  another  the  others 
followed  and,  rising  to  the  surface,  struck  out  shore 
ward. 

On  the  sunlit  sands  dozens  of  young  people  were 
hurling  tennis-balls  at  each  other.  Above  the  beach, 
under  the  long  pavilions,  sat  mothers  and  chaperons. 
Motors,  beach-carts,  and  victorias  were  still  arriving 
to  discharge  gaily  dressed  fashionables — for  the  hour 
was  early — and  up  and  down  the  inclined  wooden  walk 
leading  from  the  bathing-pavilion  to  the  sands,  a 
constant  procession  of  bathers  passed  with  nod  and 
gesture  of  laughing  salutation,  some  already  retir 
ing  to  the  showers  after  a  brief  ocean  plunge,  the 
majority  running  down  to  the  shore,  eager  for  the 
first  frosty  and  aromatic  embrace  of  the  surf  rolling 
in  under  a  cloudless  sky  of  blue. 

334 


A    NOVICE 


As  Eileen  Erroll  emerged  from  the  surf  and  came 
wading  shoreward  through  the  seething  shallows,  she 
caught  sight  of  Selwyn  sauntering  across  the  sands 
toward  the  water,  and  halted,  knee-deep,  smilingly 
expectant,  certain  that  he  had  seen  her. 

Gladys  Orchil,  passing  her,  saw  Selwyn  at  the  same 
moment,  and  her  clear  ringing  salute  and  slender  arm 
aloft,  arrested  his  attention ;  and  the  next  moment  they 
were  off  together,  swimming  toward  the  sponson  canoe 
which  Gerald  had  just  launched  with  the  assistance  of 
Sandon  Craig  and  Scott  Innis. 

For  a  moment  Eileen  stood  there,  motionless. 
Knee-high  the  flat  ebb  boiled  and  hissed,  dragging  at 
her  stockinged  feet  as  though  to  draw  her  seaward 
with  the  others.  Yesterday  she  would  have  gone,  with 
out  a  thought,  to  join  the  others;  but  yesterday  is 
yesterday.  It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  stood  there,  that 
something  disquieting  had  suddenly  come  into  the 
world;  something  unpleasant — but  indefinite — yet  suf 
ficient  to  leave  her  vaguely  apprehensive. 

The  saner  emotions  which  have  their  birth  in  rea 
son  she  was  not  ignorant  of;  emotion  arising  from 
nothing  at  all  disconcerted  her — nor  could  she  com 
prehend  the  slight  quickening  of  her  heart-beats  as 
she  waded  to  the  beach,  while  every  receding  film  of 
water  tugged  at  her  limbs  as  though  to  draw  her  back 
ward  in  the  wake  of  her  unquiet  thoughts. 

Somebody  threw  a  tennis-ball  at  her;  she  caught 
it  and  hurled  it  in  return;  and  for  a  few  minutes  the 
white,  felt-covered  balls  flew  back  and  forth  from 
scores  of  graceful,  eager  hands.  A  moment  or  two 
passed  when  no  balls  came  her  way;  she  turned  and 
walked  to  the  foot  of  a  dune  and  seated  herself  cross- 
legged  on  the  hot  sand. 

335 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Sometimes  she  watched  the  ball  players,  sometimes 
she  exchanged  a  word  of  amiable  commonplace  with 
people  who  passed  or  halted  to  greet  her.  But  she 
invited  nobody  to  remain,  and  nobody  "ventured  to,  not 
even  several  very  young  and  ardent  gentlemen  who 
had  acquired  only  the  rudiments  of  social  sense.  For 
there  was  a  sweet  but  distant  look  in  her  dark-blue 
eyes  and  a  certain  reserved  preoccupation  in  her 
acknowledgment  of  salutations.  And  these  kept  the 
would-be  adorer  moving — wistful,  lagging,  but  still 
moving  along  the  edge  of  that  invisible  barrier  set 
between  her  and  the  world  with  her  absent-minded 
greeting,  and  her  serious,  beautiful  eyes  fixed  so 
steadily  on  a  distant  white  spot — the  sponson  canoe 
where  Gladys  and  Selwyn  sat,  their  paddle  blades  flash 
ing  in  the  sun. 

How  far  away  they  were.  .  .  .  Gerald  was  with 
them.  .  .  .  Curious  that  Selwyn  had  not  seen  her 
waiting  for  him,  knee-deep  in  the  surf — curious  that 
he  had  seen  Gladys  instead.  .  .  .  True,  Gladys  had 
called  to  him  and  signalled  him,  white  arm  upflung. 
.  .  .  Gladys  was  very  pretty — with  her  heavy,  dark 
hair  and  melting,  Spanish  eyes,  and  her  softly  rounded, 
olive-skinned  figure.  .  .  .  Gladys  had  called  to  him, 
and  she  had  not.  .  .  .  That  was  true ;  and  lately — for 
the  last  few  days — or  perhaps  more — she  herself  had 
been  a  trifle  less  impulsive  in  her  greeting  of  Selwyn — 
a  little  less  sans-fafon  with  him.  .  .  .  After  all,  a  man 
comes  when  it  pleases  him.  IWhy  should  a  girl  call 
him? — unless  she — unless — unless 

Perplexed,  her  grave  eyes  fixed  on  the  sea  where 
now  the  white  canoe  pitched  nearer,  she  dropped  both 
hands  to  the  sand — those  once  wonderfully  white 
hands,  now  creamed  with  sun  tan;  and  her  arms,  too, 


A    NOVICE 


were  tinted  from  shoulder  to  finger-tip.  Then  she 
straightened  her  legs,  crossed  her  feet,  and  leaned  a 
trifle  forward,  balancing  her  body  on  both  palms  flat 
on  the  sand.  The  sun  beat  down  on  her;  she  loosened 
her  hair  to  dry  it,  and  as  she  shook  her  delicate  head 
the  superb  red-gold  mass  came  tumbling  about  her  face 
and  shoulders.  Under  its  glimmering  splendour,  and 
through  it,  she  stared  seaward  out  of  wide,  preoccu 
pied  eyes ;  and  in  her  breast,  stirring  uneasily,  a  pulse, 
intermittent  yet  dully  importunate,  persisted. 

The  canoe,  drifting  toward  the  surf,  was  close  in, 
now.  Gerald  rose  and  dived ;  Gladys,  steadying  herself 
by  a  slim  hand  on  Selwyn's  shoulder,  stood  up  on  the 
bow,  ready  to  plunge  clear  when  the  canoe  capsized. 

How  wonderfully  pretty  she  was,  balanced  there, 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  ready  for  a  leap,  lest  the 
heavy  canoe,  rolling  over  in  the  froth,  strike  her  un 
der  the  smother  of  foam  and  water.  .  .  .  How  mar 
vellously  pretty  she  was.  .  .  .  Her  hand  on  his  shoul 
der.  .  .  . 

Miss  Erroll  sat  very  still ;  but  the  pulse  within  her 
was  not  still. 

When  the  canoe  suddenly  capsized,  Gladys  jumped, 
but  Selwyn  went  with  it,  boat  and  man  tumbling  into 
the  tumult  over  and  over ;  and  the  usual  laughter  from 
the  onlookers  rang  out,  and  a  dozen  young  people 
rushed  into  the  surf  to  right  the  canoe  and  push 
it  out  into  the  surf  again  and  clamber  into  it. 

Gerald  was  among  the  number;  Gladys  swam 
toward  it,  beckoning  imperiously  to  Selwyn;  but  he 
had  his  back  to  the  sea  and  was  moving  slowly  out 
through  the  flat  swirling  ebb.  And  as  Eileen  looked, 
she  saw  a  dark  streak  leap  across  his  face — saw  him 
stoop  and  wash  it  off  and  stand,  looking  blindly  about, 

337 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


while  again  the  sudden  dark  line  criss-crossed  his 
face  from  temple  to  chin,  and  spread  wider  like  a 
stain. 

"  Philip ! "  she  called,  springing  to  her  feet  and 
scarcely  knowing  that  she  had  spoken. 

He  heard  her,  and  came  toward  her  in  a  halting, 
dazed  way,  stopping  twice  to  cleanse  his  face  of  the 
bright  blood  that  streaked  it. 

"  It's  nothing,"  he  said — "  the  infernal  thing  hit 
me.  .  .  .  Oh,  don't  use  that ! "  as  she  drenched  her 
kerchief  in  cold  sea-water  and  held  it  toward  him  with 
both  hands. 

"  Take  it ! — I — I  beg  of  you,"  she  stammered.  "  Is 
it  s-serious  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  he  said,  his  senses  clearing ;  "  it  was 
only  a  rap  on  the  head — and  this  blood  is  merely  a 
nuisance.  .  .  .  Thank  you,  I  will  use  your  kerchief 
if  you  insist.  .  .  .  It'll  stop  in  a  moment,  anyway." 

"  Please  sit  here,"  she  said — "  here  where  I've  been 
sitting." 

He  did  so,  muttering :  "  What  a  nuisance.  It  will 
stop  in  a  second.  .  .  .  You  needn't  remain  here  with 
me,  you  know.  Go  in ;  it  is  simply  glorious." 

"  I've  been  in ;  I  was  drying  my  hair." 

He  glanced  up,  smiling;  then,  as  the  wet  kerchief 
against  his  forehead  reddened,  he  started  to  rise,  but 
she  took  it  from  his  fingers,  hastened  to  the  waters 
edge,  rinsed  it,  and  brought  it  back  cold  and  wet. 

"  Please  sit  perfectly  still,"  she  said ;  "  a  girl  likes 
to  do  this  sort  of  thing  for  a  man." 

"  If  I'd  known  that,"  he  laughed,  "  I'd  have  had 
it  happen  frequently." 

She  only  shook  her  head,  watching  him  unsmiling. 
But  the  pulse  in  her  had  become  very  quiet  again. 

338 


A    NOVICE 


"  It's  no  end  of  fun  in  that  canoe,"  he  observed. 
"  Gladys  Orchil  and  I  work  it  beautifully." 

"  I   saw   you   did,"   she   nodded. 

"  Oh!    Where  were  you?     Why  didn't  you  come?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Gladys  called  you.  I  was  waiting 
for  you — expecting  you.  Then  Gladys  called  you." 

"  I  didn't  see  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  didn't  call  you,"  she  observed  serenely.  And, 
after  a  moment :  "  Do  you  see  only  those  who  hail  you, 
Captain  Selwyn?" 

He  laughed :  "  In  this  life's  cruise  a  good  sailor 
always  answers  a  friendly  hail." 

"  So  do  I,"  she  said/  "  Please  hail  me  after  this— 
because  I  don't  care  to  take  the  initiative.  If  you  neg 
lect  to  do  it,  don't  count  on  my  hailing  you  .  .  .  any 
more." 

The  stain  spread  on  the  kerchief ;  once  more  she 
went  to  the  water's  edge,  rinsed  it,  and  returned  with  it. 

"  I  think  it  has  almost  stopped  bleeding,"  she  re 
marked  as  he  laid  the  cloth  against  his  forehead.  "  You 
frightened  me,  Captain  Selwyn.  I  am  not  easily  fright 
ened." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Did  you  know  I  was  frightened?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  vexed,  "  how  could  you  know  it?  I 
didn't  do  anything  silly,  did  I?  " 

"  No ;  you  very  sensibly  called  me  Philip.  That's 
how  I  knew  you  were  frightened." 

A  slow  bright  colour  stained  face  and  neck. 

"  So  I  was  silly,  after  all,"  she  said,  biting  at  her 
under  lip  and  trying  to  meet  his  humorous  gray  eyes 
with  unconcern.  But  her  face  was  burning  now,  and, 
aware  of  it,  she  turned  her  gaze  resolutely  on  the  sea. 

339 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Also,  to  her  further  annoyance,  her  heart  awoke,  beat 
ing  unwarrantably,  absurdly,  until  the  dreadful  idea 
seized  her  that  he  could  hear  it.  Disconcerted,  she  stood 
up — a  straight  youthful  figure  against  the  sea.  The 
wind  blowing  her  dishevelled  hair  across  her  cheeks  and 
shoulders,  fluttered  her  clinging  skirts  as  she  rested 
both  hands  on  her  hips  and  slowly  walked  toward  the 
water's  edge. 

"  Shall  we  swim  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

She  half  turned  and  looked  around  and  down  at  him. 

"  I'm  all  right;  it's  stop^djjleeding.  Shall  we?  " 
he  inquired,  looking  up  at  herf^  "  You've  got  to  wash 
your  hair  again,  anyhow." 

She  said,  feeling  suddenly^ptupid  and  childish,  and 
knowing  she  was  speaking  stupidly :  "  Would  you  not 


ought  that — that- 


rather  join  Gladys  again? 

"Thought  what?" 

"  Nothing,"   she  said, 
going  to  the  showers. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  ,sai 
the  pavilion  together 

"  But  you  are 

"  Not  unless  *ou 

"W-what 

"  It's  a  big  ocea 
he  said  so  serioTisly 
laughed. 

"  It's  full  of  pretty  girls  just  now 
melancholy  friend. 
women  to-day." 

"  '  If  they  be  not  fair  to  me,  what  care  I  how  fair 
they  be,'  "  he  paraphrased,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
keeping  step  beside  her. 

"  Really,  that  won't  do,"  she  said ;  "  much  moonlight 
340 


at  herself ;  "I   am 
ubled — "  unless  we  walk  to 
again ;  are  you  not  ?  " 

with  it,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  " 
d  rather  lonely  without  you,'' 
t  she  looked  around  again  and 

Plunge  in,  my 
The  whole  ocean  is  a  dream  of  fair 


A    NOVICE 


and  Gladys  and  the  Minster  twins  convict  you.  Do  you 
remember  that  I  told  you  one  day  in  early  summer — 
that  Sheila  and  Dorothy  and  Gladys  would  mark  you 
for  their  own?  Oh,  my  inconstant  courtier,  they  are 
yonder ! — And  I  absolve  you.  Adieu !  " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  7  told  you — one  day  in 
early  summer?  "  he  returned  coolly. 

Her  heart  began  its  absurd  beating  again — but  now 
there  was  no  trace  of  pain  in  it — nothing  of  apprehen 
sion  in  the  echo  of  the  pulse  either. 

"  You  protested  so  many  things,  Captain  Sel- 
wyn " 

"  Yes ;  and  one  thing  in  particular.  You've  forgot 
ten  it,  I  see."  And  he  looked  her  in  the  eye. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  are  wrong.  I  have  not  for 
gotten." 

"  Nor  I." 

He  halted,  looking  out  over  the  shining  breakers. 
"  I'm  glad  you  have  not  forgotten  what  I  said ;  because, 
you  see,  I'm  forbidden  to  repeat  it.  So  I  shall  be  quite 
helpless  to  aid  you  in  case  your  memory  fails." 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  fail,"  she  said,  looking  at  the 
flashing  sea.  A  curious  tingling  sensation  of  fright 
had  seized  her — something  entirely  unknown  to  her 
heretofore.  She  spoke  again  because  frightened;  the 
heavy,  hard  pulse  in  breast  and  throat  played  tricks  with 
her  voice  and  she  swallowed  and  attempted  to  steady 
it :  "  I — if — if  I  ever  forget,  you  will  know  it  as  soon  as 
I  do " 

Her  throat  seemed  to  close  in  a  quick,  unsteady 
breath ;  she  halted,  both  small  hands  clinched : 

"  Don't  talk  this  way !  "  she  said,  exasperated  under 
a  rush  of  sensations  utterly  incomprehensible — sting 
ing,  confused  emotions  that  beat  chaotic  time  to  the 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


clamour  of  her  pulses.  "  Why  d-do  you  speak  of  such 
things  ? "  she  repeated  with  a  fierce  little  indrawn 
breath — "  why  do  you? — when  you  know — when  I 
said  —  explained  everything?"  She  looked  at  him 
fearfully :  "  You  are  somehow  spoiling  our  friendship," 
she  said ;  "  and  I  don't  exactly  know  how  you  are  doing 
it,  but  something  of  the  comfort  of  it  is  being  taken 
away  from  me — and  don't !  don't !  don't  do  it !  " 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  clinched  hands,  stood 
a  moment,  motionless ;  then  her  arms  dropped,  and  she 
turned  sharply  with  a  gesture  which  left  him  standing 
there  and  walked  rapidly  across  the  beach  to  the 
pavilion. 

After  a  little  while  he  followed,  pursuing  his  way 
very  leisurely  to  his  own  quarters.  Half  an  hour. later 
when  she  emerged  with  her  maid,  Selwyn  was  not  wait 
ing  for  her  as  usual ;  and,  scarcely  understanding  that 
she  was  finding  an  excuse  for  lingering,  she  stood  for 
ten  minutes  on  the  step  of  the  Orchils'  touring-car, 
talking  to  Gladys  about  the  lantern  fete  and  dance  to 
be  given  that  night  at  Hitherwood  House. 

Evidently  Selwyn  had  already  gone  home.  Gerald 
came  lagging  up  with  Sheila  Minster ;  but  his  sister  did 
not  ask  him  whether  Selwyn  had  gone.  Yesterday  she 
would  have  done  so ;  but  to-day  had  brought  to  her  the 
strangest  sensation  of  her  young  life — a  sudden  and 
overpowering  fear  of  a  friend ;  and  yet,  strangest  of  all, 
the  very  friend  she  feared  she  was  waiting  for — con 
triving  to  find  excuses  to  wait  for.  Surely  he  could  not 
have  finished  dressing  and  have  gone.  He  had  never 
before  done  that.  Why  did  he  not  come  ?  It  was  late ; 
people  were  leaving  the  pavilion;  victorias  and  beach- 
phaetons  were  trundling  off  loaded  to  the  water-line 
with  fat  dowagers;  gay  groups  passed,  hailing  her  or 


A    NOVICE 


waving  adieux ;  Drina  drove  up  in  her  village-cart,  call 
ing  out:  "Are  you  coming,  Eileen,  or  are  you  going 
to  walk  over?  Hurry  up!  I'm  hungry." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  she  said,  nodding  adieu  to 
Gladys ;  and  she  swung  off  the  step  and  crossed  the  shell 
road. 

"  Jump  in,"  urged  the  child ;  "  I'm  in  a  dreadful 
hurry,  and  Odin  can't  trot  very  fast." 

"  I'd  prefer  to  drive  slowly,"  said  Miss  Erroll  in  a 
colourless  voice;  and  seated  herself  in  the  village-cart. 

"  Why  must  I  drive  slowly  ?  "  demanded  the  child. 
"  I'm  hungry ;  besides,  I  haven't  seen  Boots  this  morn 
ing.  I  don't  want  to  drive  slowly ;  must  I  ?  " 

"Which  are  you  most  in  a  hurry  for?"  asked 
Eileen  curiously  ;  "  luncheon  or  Boots  ?  " 

"  Both — I  don't  know.  What  a  silly  question. 
Boots  of  course !  But  I'm  starving,  too." 

"Boots?    Of  course?" 

"  Certainly.  He  always  comes  first — just  like  Cap 
tain  Selwyn  with  you." 

"  Like  Captain  Selwyn  with  me,"  she  repeated  ab 
sently  ;  "  certainly ;  Captain  Selwyn  should  be  first, 
everything  else  second.  But  how  did  you  find  out  that, 
Drina?" 

"  Why,  anybody  can  see  that,"  said  the  child  con 
temptuously  ;  "  you  are  as  fast  friends  with  Uncle 
Philip  as  I  am  with  Boots.  And  why  you  don't  marry 
him  I  can't  see — unless  you're  not  old  enough.  Are 
you?" 

"  Yes.  ...  I  am  old  enough,  dear." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ?  If  I  was  old  enough  to 
marry  Boots  I'd  do  it.  Why  don't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Erroll,  as  though  speak 
ing  to  herself. 

23  343 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Drina  glanced  at  her,  then  flourished  her  be-rib- 
boned  whip,  which  whistling  threat  had  no  perceptible 
effect  on  the  fat,  red,  Norwegian  pony. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  child,  "  if  you  don't 
ask  Uncle  Philip  pretty  soon  somebody  will  ask  him 
first,  and  you'll  be  too  late.  As  soon  as  I  saw  Boots  I 
knew  that  I  wanted  him  for  myself,  and  I  told  him  so. 
He  said  he  was  very  glad  I  had  spoken,  because  he  was 
expecting  a  proposal  by  wireless  from  the  young  Sul 
tana-elect  of  Leyte.  Now,"  added  the  child  with  satis 
faction,  "  she  can't  have  him.  It's  better  to  be  in  time, 
you  see." 

Eileen  nodded :  "  Yes,  it  is  better  to  be  in  plenty 
of  time.  You  can't  tell  what  Sultana  may  fore 
stall  you." 

"  So  you'll  tell  him,  won't  you?  "  inquired  Drina 
with  business-like  briskness. 

Miss  Erroll  looked  absently  at  her :  "  Tell  who 
what?" 

"  Uncle  Philip — that  you're  going  to  marry  him 
when  you're  old  enough." 

"  Yes — when  I'm  old  enough — I'll  tell  him,  Drina." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  mean  you'll  marry  him  when  you're  old 
enough,  but  you'd  better  tell  him  right  away." 

"  I  see ;  I'd  better  speak  immediately.  Thank  you, 
dear,  for  suggesting  it." 

"  You're  quite  welcome,"  said  the  child  seriously ; 
"  and  I  hope  you'll  be  as  happy  as  I  am." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Eileen  as  the  pony-cart  drew  up 
by  the  veranda  and  a  groom  took  the  pony's  head. 

Luncheon  being  the  children's  hour,  Miss  Erroll's 
silence  remained  unnoticed  in  the  jolly  uproar;  besides, 
Gerald  and  Boots  were  discussing  the  huge  house-party, 
lantern  fete,  and  dance  which  the  Orchils  were  giving 

344 


A    XOFICE 


that  night  for  the  younger  sets ;  and  Selwyn,  too, 
seemed  to  take  unusual  interest  in  the  discussion,  though 
Eileen's  part  in  the  conference  was  limited  to  an  occa 
sional  nod  or  monosyllable. 

Drina  was  wild  to  go  and  furious  at  not  having 
been  asked,  but  when  Boots  offered  to  stay  home,  she 
resolutely  refused  to  accept  the  sacrifice. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  they  are  pigs  not  to  ask  girls  of 
my  age,  but  you  may  go,  Boots,  and  I'll  promise  not  to 
be  unhappy."  And  she  leaned  over  and  added  in  a  whis 
per  to  Eileen :  "  You  see  how  sensible  it  is  to  make  ar 
rangements  beforehand!  Because  somebody,  grown 
up,  might  take  him  away  at  this  very  party.  That's 
the  reason  why  it  is  best  to  speak  promptly.  Please 
pass  me  another  peach,  Eileen." 

"What  are  you  two  children  whispering  about?" 
inquired  Selwyn,  glancing  at  Eileen. 

"  Oho !  "  exclaimed  Drina ;  "  you  may  know  before 
long!  May  he  not,  Eileen?  It's  about  you,"  she  said; 
"  something  splendid  that  somebody  is  going  to  do  to 
you!  Isn't  it,  Eileen?" 

Miss  Erroll  looked  smilingly  at  Selwyn,  a  gay  jest 
on  her  lips ;  but  the  sudden  clamour  of  pulses  in  her 
throat  closed  her  lips,  cutting  the  phrase  in  two,  and 
the  same  strange  fright  seized  her — an  utterly  unrea 
soning  fear  of  him. 

At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Gerard  gave  the  rising 
signal,  and  Selwyn  was  swept  away  in  the  rushing  herd 
of  children,  out  on  to  the  veranda,  where  for  a  while  he 
smoked  and  drew  pictures  for  the  younger  Gerards. 
Later,  some  of  the  children  were  packed  off  for  a  nap ; 
Billy  with  his  assorted  puppies  went  away  with  Drina 
and  Boots,  ever  hopeful  of  a  fox  or  rabbit ;  Nina  Gerard 
curled  herself  up  in  a  hammock,  and  Selwyn  seated  him- 

345 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


self  beside  her,  an  uncut  magazine  on  his  knees.     Eileen 
had  disappetwgd. 

For  a  wmreNina  swung  there  in  silence,  her  pretty 
eyes  fixed  on  her  brother.  He  had  nearly  finished  cut 
ting  the  leaves  of  the  magazine  before  she  spoke,  men 
tioning  the  fact  of  Rosamund  Fane's  arrival  at  the  Min 
sters'  house,  Brookminster. 

The  slightest  frown  gathered  and  passed  from  her 
brother's  sun-bronzed  forehead,  but  he  made  no  com 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Neergard  is  a  guest,  too,"  she  observed. 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Selwyn,  in  disgust. 

"  Yes ;  he  came  ashore  with  the  Fanes." 

Selwyn  flushed  a  little  but  went  on  cutting  the  pages 
of  the  magazine.  When  he  had  finished  he  flattened  the 
pages  between  both  covers,  and  said,  without  raising 
his  eyes : 

"  I'm  sorry  that  crowd  is  to  be  in  evidence." 

"  They  always  are  and  always  will  be,"  smiled  his 
sister. 

He  looked  up  at  her :  "  Do  you  mean  that  anybody 
else  is  a  guest  at  Brookminster?  " 

"  Yes,  Phil." 

"Alixe?" 

"  Yes." 

He  looked  down  at  the  book  on  his  knees  and  began 
to  furrow  the  pages  absently. 

"  Phil,"  she  said,  "  have  you  heard  anything  this 
summer — lately — about  the  Ruthvens  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Nothing  at  all?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  You  knew  they  were  at  Newport  as  usual." 

"  I  took  it  for  granted." 
346 


A    NOVICE 


"  And  you  have  heard  no  rumours  ? — no  gossip  con 
cerning  them  ?  Nothing  about  a  yacht  ?  " 

"Where  was  I  to  hear  it?  What  gossip?  What 
yacht?" 

His  sister  said  very  seriously :  "  Alixe  has  been  very 
careless." 

"  Everybody  is.    What  of  it  ?  " 

"It  is  understood  that  she  and  Jack  Ruthven  have 
separated." 

He  looked  up  quickly:  "  Who  told  you  that?  " 

"  A  woman  wrote  me  from  Newport.  .  .  .  And 
Alixe  is  here  and  Jack  Ruthven  is  in  New  York.  Sev 
eral  people  have — I  have  heard  about  it  from  several 
sources.  I'm  afraid  it's  true,  Phil." 

They  looked  into  each  other's  troubled  eyes ;  and  he 
said :  "  If  she  has  done  this  it  is  the  worse  of  two  evils 
she  has  chosen.  To  live  with  him  was  bad  enough,  but 
this  is  the  limit." 

"  I  know  it.  She  cannot  afford  to  do  such  a  thing 
again.  .  .  .  Phil,  what  is  the  matter  with  her?  She 
simply  cannot  be  sane  and  do  such  a  thing — can  she?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  do.  She  is  not  sane.  She  has  made  herself 
horridly  conspicuous  among  conspicuous  people;  she 
has  been  indiscreet  to  the  outer  edge  of  effrontery. 
Even  that  set  won't  stand  it  always — especially  as  their 
men  folk  are  quite  crazy  about  her,  and  she  leads  a 
train  of  them  about  wherever  she  goes — the  little  fool! 

"  And  now,  if  it's  true,  that  there's  to  be  a  separa 
tion — what  on  earth  will  become  of  her?  I  ask  you, 
Phil,  for  I  don't  know.  But  men  know  what  becomes 
eventually  of  women  who  slap  the  world  across  the  face 
with  over-ringed  fingers. 

"  If — if  there's  any  talk  about  it — if  there's  news- 
347 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


paper  talk — if  there's  a  divorce — who  will  ask  her  to 
their  houses?  Who  will  condone  this  thing?  Who  will 
tolerate  it,  or  "her  ?  Men — and  men  only — the  odious 
sort  that  fawn  on  her  now  and  follow  her  about  half- 
sneeringly.  They'll  tolerate  it;  but  their  wives  won't; 
and  the  kind  of  women  who  will  receive  and  tolerate  her 
are  not  included  in  my  personal  experience.  What  a 
fool  she  has  been ! — good  heavens,  what  a  fool !  " 

A  trifle  paler  than  usual,  he  said :  "  There  is  no  real 
harm  in  her.  I  know  there  is  not." 

"  You  are  very  generous,  Phil " 

"  No,  I  am  trying  to  be  truthful.  And  I  say  there 
is  no  harm  in  her.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  on  that 
score."  He  leaned  nearer  his  sister  and  laid  one  hand 
on  hers  where  it  lay  across  the  hammock's  edge : 

"  Nina ;  no  woman  could  have  done  what  she  has 
done,  and  continue  to  do  what  she  does,  and  be  mentally 
sound.  This,  at  last,  is  my  conclusion." 

"  It  has  long  been  my  conclusion,"  she  said  under 
her  breath. 

He  stared  at  the  floor  out  of  gray  eyes  grown  dull 
and  hopeless. 

"  Phil,"  whispered  his  sister,  "  suppose — suppose — 
what  happened  to  her  father " 

"  I  know." 

She  said  again :  "  It  was  slow  at  first,  a  brilliant 
eccentricity — that  gradually  became — something  else 
less  pleasant.  Oh,  Phil!  Phil!" 

"  It  was  softening  of  the  brain,"  he  said,  "  was  it 
not?" 

"  Yes  —  he  entertained  a  delusion  of  conspiracy 
against  him — also  a  complacent  conviction  of  the  men 
tal  instability  of  others.  Yet,  at  intervals  he  remained 
clever  and  witty  and  charming." 

348 


A    NOVICE 


"And  then?" 

"  Phil — he  became  violent  at  times." 

"  Yes.     And  the  end?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  A  little  child  again — quite  happy  and  content — 
playing  with  toys — very  gentle,  very  pitiable — "  The 
hot  tears  filled  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  Phil ! "  she  sobbed  and 
hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 

Over  the  soft,  faintly  fragrant  hair  he  stared  stu 
pidly,  lips  apart,  chin  loose. 

A  little  later,  Nina  sat  up  in  the  hammock,  daintily 
effacing  the  traces  of  tears.  Selwyn  was  saying :  "  If 
this  is  so,  that  Ruthven  man  has  got  to  stand  by  her. 
Where  could  she  go — if  such  trouble  is  to  come  upon 
her?  To  whom  can  she  turn  if  not  to  him?  He  is  re 
sponsible  for  her — doubly  so,  if  her  condition  is  to  be — 
that !  By  every  law  of  manhood  he  is  bound  to  stand 
by  her  now;  by  every  law  of  decency  and  humanity  he 
cannot  desert  her  now.  If  she  does  these — these  indis 
creet  things — and  if  he  knows  she  is  not  altogether 
mentally  responsible — he  cannot  fail  to  stand  by  her! 
How  can  he,  in  God's  name !  " 

"  Phil,"  she  said,  "  you  speak  like  a  man,  but  she 
has  no  man  to  stand  loyally  by  her  in  the  direst  need  a 
human  soul  may  know.  He  is  only  a  thing — no  man 
at  all — only  a  loathsome  accident  of  animated  deca 
dence." 

He  looked  up  quickly,  amazed  at  her  sudden  bitter 
ness  ;  and  she  looked  back  at  him  almost  fiercely. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  I've  heard,"  she  said ; 
"  I  was  not  going  to,  at  first ;  but  it  will  be  all  around 
town  sooner  or  later.  Rosamund  told  me.  She  learned 
— as  she  manages  to  learn  everything  a  little  before  any 
body  else  hears  of  it — that  Jack  Ruthven  found  out  that 
Alixe  was  behaving  very  carelessly  with  some  man — 

349 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


some  silly,  callow,  and  probably  harmless  youth.  But 
there  was  a  disgraceful  scene  on  Mr.  Neergard's  yacht, 
the  Niobrara.  I  don't  know  who  the  people  were,  but 
Ruthven  acted  abominably.  .  .  .  The  Niobrara  an 
chored  in  Widgeon  Bay  yesterday ;  and  Alixe  is  aboard, 
and  her  husband  is  in  New  York,  and  Rosamund  says  he 
means  to  divorce  her  in  one  way  or  another !  Ugh !  the 
horrible  little  man  with  his  rings  and  bangles  !  " 

She  shuddered :  "  Why,  the  mere  bringing  of  such  a 
suit  means  her  social  ruin  no  matter  what  verdict  is 
brought  in !  Her  only  salvation  has  been  in  remaining 
inconspicuous;  and  a  sane  girl  would  have  realised  it. 
But  " — and  she  made  a  gesture  of  despair — "  you  see 
what  she  has  done.  .  .  .  And  Phil — you  know  what  she 
has  done  to  you — what  a  mad  risk  she  took  in  going  to 
your  rooms  that  night " 

"  Who  said  she  had  ever  been  in  my  rooms  ?  "  he 
demanded,  flushing  darkly  in  his  surprise. 

"  Did  you  suppose  I  didn't  know  it  ?  "  she  asked 
quietly.  "  Oh,  but  I  did ;  and  it  kept  me  awake  nights, 
worrying.  Yet  I  knew  it  must  have  been  all  right — 
knowing  you  as  I  do.  But  do  you  suppose  other  people 
would  hold  you  as  innocent  as  I  do?  Even  Eileen — the 
sweetest,  whitest,  most  loyal  little  soul  in  the  world — 
was  troubled  when  Rosamund  hinted  at  some  scandal 
touching  you  and  Alixe.  She  told  me — but  she  did 
not  tell  me  what  Rosamund  had  said — the  mischief 
maker !  " 

His  face  had  become  quite  colourless;  he  raised  an 
unsteady  hand  to  his  mouth,  touching  'his  moustache ; 
and  his  gray  eyes  narrowed  menacingly. 

"  Rosamund — spoke  of  scandal  to — Eileen  ?  "  he  re 
peated.  "  Is  that  possible?  " 

"  How  long  do  you  suppose  a  girl  can  live  and  not 
350 


A    NOVICE 


hear  scandal  of  some  sort?"  said  Nina.  "It's  bound 
to  rain  some  time  or  other,  but  I  prepared  my  little 
duck's  back  to  shed  some  things." 

"  You  say,"  insisted  Selwyn,  "  that  Rosamund  spoke 
of  me — in  that  way — to  Eileen?  " 

"  Yes.  It  only  made  the  child  angry,  Phil ;  so  don't 
worry." 

"  No ;  I  won't  worry.  No,  I — I  won't.  You  are 
quite  right,  Nina.  But  the  pity  of  it ;  that  tight,  hard- 
shelled  woman  of  the  world — to  do  such  a  thing — to  a 
young  girl." 

"  Rosamund  is  Rosamund,"  said  Nina  with  a  shrug ; 
"  the  antidote  to  her  species  is  obvious." 

"  Right,  thank  God !  "  said  Selwyn  between  his  teeth ; 
"  Mens  sana  in  cor  pore  sano!  bless  her  little  heart!  I'm 
glad  you  told  me  this,  Nina." 

He  rose  and  laughed  a  little — a  curious  sort  of 
laugh ;  and  Nina  watched  him,  perplexed. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Phil?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.     I— where  is  Eileen?  " 

"  She's  lying  down — a  headache ;  probably  too  much 
sun  and  salt  water.  Shall  I  send  for  her?  " 

"  No ;  I'll  go  up  and  inquire  how  she  is.  Susanne  is 
there,  isn't  she?" 

And  he  entered  the  house  and  ascended  the  stairs. 

The  little  Alsatian  maid  was  seated  in  a  corner  of 
the  upper  hall,  sewing;  and  she  informed  Selwyn  that 
mademoiselle  "  had  bad  in  ze  h'ead." 

But  at  the  sound  of  conversation  in  the  corridor 
Eileen's  gay  voice  came  to  them  from  her  room,  asking 
who  it  was ;  and  she  evidently  knew,  for  there  was  a  hint 
of  laughter  in  her  tone. 

"  It  is  I.     Are  you  better  ?  "  said  Selwyn. 

"  Yes.    D-did  you  wish  to  see  me?  " 
351 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  I  always  do." 

"  Thank  you.  ...  I  mean,  do  you  wish  to  see  me 
now?  Because  I'm  very  much  occupied  in  trying  to  go 
to  sleep." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  see  you  at  once." 

"Particularly?" 

"  Very  particularly." 

"  Oh,  if  it's  as  serious  as  that,  you  alarm  me.  I'm 
afraid  to  come." 

"  I'm  afraid  to  have  you.     But  please  come." 

He  heard  her  laugh  to  herself ;  then  her  clear,  amused 
voice :  "  What  are  you  going  to  say  to  me  if  I  come 
out?" 

"  Something  dreadful !    Hurry !  " 

"  Oh,  if  that's  the  case  I'll  hurry,"  she  returned, 
and  a  moment  later  the  door  opened  and  she  emerged  in 
a  breezy  flutter  of  silvery  ribbons  and  loosened  ruddy 
hair. 

She  was  dressed  in  some  sort  of  delicate  misty  stuff 
that  alternately  clung  and  floated,  outlining  or  clouding 
her  glorious  young  figure  as  she  moved  with  leisurely 
free-limbed  grace  across  the  hall  to  meet  him. 

The  pretty  greeting  she  always  reserved  for  him, 
even  if  their  separation  had  been  for  a  few  minutes 
only,  she  now  offered,  hand  extended;  a  cool,  fragrant 
hand  which  lay  for  a  second  in  his,  closed,  and  with 
drew,  leaving  her  eyes  very  friendly. 

"  Come  out  on  the  west  veranda,"  she  said ;  "  I  know 
what  you  wish  to  say  to  me.  Besides,  I  have  something 
to  confide  to  you,  too.  And  I'm  very  impatient  to 
do  it." 

He  followed  her  to  the  veranda;  she  seated  herself 
in  the  broad  swing,  and  moved  so  that  her  invitation  to 
him  was  unmistakable.  Then  when  he  had  taken  the 

352 


A    NOVICE 


place  beside  her  she  turned  toward  him  very  frankly, 
and  he  looked  up  to  encounter  her  beautiful  direct 
gaze. 

"What  is  disturbing  our  friendship?"  she  asked. 
"  Do  you  know?  I  don't.  I  went  to  my  room  after 
luncheon  and  lay  down  on  my  bed  and  quietly  deliber 
ated.  And  do  you  know  what  conclusion  I  have 
reached?" 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"  That  there  is  nothing  at  all  to  disturb  our  friend 
ship.  And  that  what  I  said  to  you  on  the  beach  was 
foolish.  I  don't  know  why  I  said  it ;  I'm  not  the  sort 
of  girl  who  says  such  stupid  things — though  I  was  ap 
parently,  for  that  one  moment.  And  what  I  said  about 
Gladys  was  childish;  I  am  not  jealous  of  her,  Captain 
Selwyn.  Don't  think  me  silly  or  perverse  or  sentimental, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't." 

She  smiled  at  him  with  a  trifle  less  courage — a  trifle 
more  self-consciousness :  "  And — and  as  for  what  I 
called  you " 

"  You  mean  when  you  called  me  by  my  first  name, 
and  I  teased  you?  " 

"  Y-es.  I  was  silly  to  do  it ;  sillier  to  be  ashamed  of 
doing  it.  There's  a  great  deal  of  the  callow  schoolgirl 
in  me  yet,  you  see.  The  wise,  amused  smile  of  a  man 
can  sometimes  stampede  my  self-possession  and  leave  me 
blushing  like  any  ninny  in  dire  confusion.  ...  It  was 
very,  very  mean  of  you — for  the  blood  across  your  face 
did  shock  me.  .  .  .  And,  by  myself,  and  in  my  very 
private  thoughts,  I  do  sometimes  call  you — by  your 
first  name.  .  .  .  And  that  explains  it.  ...  Now,  what 
have  you  to  say  to  me?  " 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  something." 
353 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  With  pleasure,"  she  said ;  "  go  ahead."  And  she 
settled  back,  fearlessly  expectant. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  striving  to  speak  coolly. 
"  It  is  this:  Will  you  marry  me,  Eileen?  " 

She  turned  perfectly  white  and  stared  at  him, 
stunned.  And  he  repeated  his  question,  speaking  slowly, 
but  unsteadily. 

"  N-no,"  she  said ;  "  I  cannot.  Why — why,  you 
know  that,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why,  Eileen?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know  why.  I  think — I  suppose  that  it 
is  because  I  do  not  love  you — that  way." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that,  of  course,  is  the  reason.  I 
wonder — do  you  suppose  that — in  time — perhaps — you 
might  care  for  me — that  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  She  glanced  up  at  him  fearfully, 
fascinated,  yet  repelled.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  repeated 
pitifully.  "  Is  it — can't  you  help  thinking  of  me  in  that 
way  ?  Can't  you  be  as  you  were  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can  no  longer  help  it.  I  don't  want  to  help 
it,  Eileen." 

"  But — I  wish  you  to,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  It 
is  that  which  is  coming  between  us.  Oh,  don't  you  see  it 
is?  Don't  you  feel  it — feel  what  it  is  doing  to  us? 
Don't  you  understand  how  it  is  driving  me  back  into  my 
self  ?  Whom  am  I  to  go  to  if  not  to  you  ?  What  am  I  to 
do  if  your  affection  turns  into  this — this  different  atti 
tude  toward  me?  You  were  so  perfectly  sweet  and  rea 
sonable — so  good,  so  patient;  and  now — and  now  I  am 
losing  confidence  in  you — in  myself — in  our  friendship. 
I'm  no  longer  frank  with  you;  I'm  afraid  at  times — 
afraid  and  self-conscious — conscious  of  you,  too — 
afraid  of  what  seemed  once  the  most  natural  of  intima 
cies.  I — I  loved  you  so  dearly — so  fearlessly " 

354 


A    NOFICE 


Tears  blinded  her;  she  bent  her  head,  and  they  fell 
on  the  soft  delicate  stuff  of  her  gown,  flashing  down 
ward  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Dear,"  he  said  gently,  "  nothing  is  altered  between 
us.  I  love  you  in  that  way,  too." 

"  D-do  you — really  ?  "  she  stammered,  shrinking 
away  from  him. 

"  Truly.  Nothing  is  altered ;  nothing  of  the  bond 
between  us  is  weakened.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  strength 
ened.  You  cannot  understand  that  now.  But  what  you 
are  to  believe  and  always  understand  is  that  our  friend 
ship  must  endure.  Will  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Y-yes — "  She  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief 
and  sat  very  still  for  a  long  time.  He  had  risen  and 
walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the  veranda;  and  for  a 
minute  he  stood  there,  his  narrowed  eyes  following  the 
sky  flight  of  the  white  gulls  off  Wonder  Head. 

When  at  length  he  returned  to  her  she  was  sitting 
low  in  the  swing,  both  arms  extended  along  the  back  of 
the  seat.  Evidently  she  had  been  waiting  for  him ;  and 
her  face  was  very  grave  and  sorrowful. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  said — "  merely 
to  prove  that  you  are  a  little  bit  illogical.  May  I?  " 

He  nodded,  smiling. 

"  Could  you  and  I  care  for  each  other  more  than  we 
now  do,  if  we  were  married  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  demanded,  astonished.  Evidently  she 
had  expected  another  answer. 

He  made  no  reply ;  and  she  lay  back  among  the  cush 
ions  considering  what  he  had  said,  the  flush  of  surprise 
still  lingering  in  her  cheeks. 

"  How  can  I  marry  you,"  she  asked,  "  when  I  would 
— would  not  care  to  endure  a — a  caress  from  any  man 

355 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


— even  from  you?  It — such  things — would  spoil  it 
all.  I  don't  love  you — that  way.  ...  Oh!  Don't 
look  at  me  that  way!  Have  I  hurt  you? — dear  Cap 
tain  Selwyn?  ...  I  did  not  mean  to.  .  .  .  Oh,  what 
has  become  of  our  happiness !  What  has  become  of 
it !  "  And  she  turned,  full  length  in  the  swing,  and 
hid  her  face  in  the  silken  pillows. 

For  a  long  while  she  lay  there,  the  western  sun 
turning  her  crown  of  hair  to  fire  above  the  white  nape 
of  her  slender  neck;  and  he  saw  her  hands  clasping, 
unclasping,  or  crushing  the  tiny  handkerchief  deep 
into  one  palm. 

There  was  a  chair  near;  he  drew  it  toward  her, 
and  sat  down,  steadying  the  swing  with  one  hand  on 
the  chain. 

"  Dearest,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  "  I  am  very 
selfish  to  have  done  this ;  but  I — I  thought — perhaps 
— you  might  have  cared  enough  to — to  venture " 

"  I  do  care ;  you  are  very  cruel  to  me."  The  voice 
was  childishly  broken  and  muffled.  He  looked  down 
at  her,  slowly  realising  that  it  was  a  child  he  still  was 
dealing  with — a  child  with  a  child's  innocence,  repelled 
by  the  graver  phase  of  love,  unresponsive  to  the  deeper 
emotions,  bewildered  by  the  glimpse  of  the  mature  role 
his  attitude  had  compelled  her  to  accept.  That  she 
already  had  reached  that  mile-stone  and,  for  a  mo 
ment,  had  turned  involuntarily  to  look  back  and  find 
her  childhood  already  behind  her,  frightened  her. 

Thinking,  perhaps,  of  his  own  years,  and  of  what 
lay  behind  him,  he  sighed  and  looked  out  over  the 
waste  of  moorland  where  the  Atlantic  was  battering 
the  sands  of  Surf  Point.  Then  his  patient  gaze  shifted 
to  the  east,  and  he  saw  the  surface  of  Sky  Pond,  blue  as 
the  eyes  of  the  girl  who  lay  crouching  in  the  cushioned 

356 


A    NOVICE 


corner  of  the  swinging  seat,  small  hands  clinched  over 
the  handkerchief — a  limp  bit  of  stuff  damp  with  her 
tears. 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  he  said,  "  that  we  mustn't 
do — cry  about  it — must  we,  Eileen  ?  " 

"  No-o." 

"  Certainly  not.  Because  there  is  nothing  to  make 
either  of  us  unhappy;  is  there?  ?' 

"  Oh-h,  no." 

"  Exactly.  So  we're  not  going  to  be  unhappy ;  not 
one  bit.  First  because  we  love  each  other,  anyway ; 
don't  we?" 

"  Y-yes." 

"  Of  course  we  do.  And  now,  just  because  I  hap 
pen  to  love  you  in  that  way  and  also  in  a  different 
sort  of  way,  in  addition  to  that  way,  why,  it's  nothing 
for  anybody  to  cry  about  it;  is  it,  Eileen?  " 

"  No.  ...  No,  it  is  not.  ...  But  I  c-can't  help  it." 

"  Oh,  but  you're  going  to  help  it,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I— I  hope  so." 

He  was  silent ;  and  presently  she  said :  "  I — the 
reason  of  it — my  crying — is  b-b-because  I  don't  wish 
you  to  be  unhappy." 

"  But,  dear,  dear  little  girl,  I  am  not !  " 

"Really?" 

"  No,  indeed !  Why  should  I  be  ?  You  do  love 
me;  don't  you?  " 

"You  know  I  do." 

"  But  not  in  that  way." 

"  N-no ;  not  in  that  way.  ...  I  w-wish  I  did." 

A  thrill  passed  through  him;  after  a  moment  he 
relaxed  and  leaned  forward,  his  chin  resting  on  his 
clinched  hands :  "  Then  let  us  go  back  to  the  old  foot 
ing,  Eileen." 

357 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"Can  we?" 

"  Yes,  we  can ;  and  we  will — back  to  the  old  foot 
ing — when  nothing  of  deeper  sentiment  disturbed  us. 
...  It  was  my  fault,  little  girl.  Some  day  you  will 
understand  that  it  was  not  a  wholly  selfish  fault — be 
cause  I  believed — perhaps  only  dreamed — that  I  could 
make  you  happier  by  loving  you  in — both  ways.  That 
is  all;  it  is  your  happiness — our  happiness  that  we 
must  consider;  and  if  it  is  to  last  and  endure,  we  must 
be  very,  very  careful  that  nothing  really  disturbs  it 
again.  And  that  means  that  the  love,  which  is  some 
times  called  friendship,  must  be  recognised  as  suffi 
cient.  .  .  .  You  know  how  it  is;  a  man  who  is  locked 
up  in  Paradise  is  never  satisfied  until  he  can  climb 
the  wall  and  look  over!  Now  I  have  climbed  and 
looked;  and  now  I  climb  back  into  the  garden  of 
your  dear  friendship,  very  glad  to  be  there  again  with 
you — very,  very  thankful,  dear.  .  .  .  Will  you  wel 
come  me  back  ?  " 

She  lay  quite  still  a  minute,  then  sat  up  straight, 
stretching  out  both  hands  to  him,  her  beautiful,  fear 
less  eyes  brilliant  as  rain-washed  stars. 

"  Don't  go  away,"  she  said — "  don't  ever  go  away 
from  our  garden  again." 

"  No,  Eileen." 

"  Is  it  a  promise  .  .  .  Philip  ?  " 

Her  voice  fell  exquisitely  low. 

"  Yes,  a  promise.  Do  you  take  me  back, 
Eileen?" 

"  Yes ;  I  take  you.  .  .  .  Take  me  back,  too, 
Philip."  Her  hands  tightened  in  his ;  she  looked  up 
at  him,  faltered,  waited ;  then  in  a  fainter  voice :  "  And 
— and  be  of  g-good  courage.  .  .  .  I — I  am  not  very 
old  yet." 

358 


A   NOVICE 


She  withdrew  her  hands  and  bent  her  head,  sitting 
there,  still  as  a  white-browed  novice,  listlessly  consider 
ing  the  lengthening  shadows  at  her  feet.  But,  as  he 
rose  and  looked  out  across  the  waste  with  enchanted 
eyes  that  saw  nothing,  his  heart  suddenly  leaped  up 
quivering,  as  though  his  very  soul  had  been  drenched 
in  immortal  sunshine. 

An  hour  later,  when  Nina  discovered  them  there 
together,  Eileen,  curled  up  among  the  cushions  in  the 
swinging  seat,  was  reading  aloud  "  Evidences  of  Asi 
atic  Influence  on  the  Symbolism  of  Ancient  Yucatan  " ; 
and  Selwyn,  astride  a  chair,  chin  on  his  folded  arms, 
was  listening  with  evident  rapture. 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Nina,  "the  blue-stocking 
and  the  fogy! — and  yours  are  pale  blue,  Eileen! — 
you're  about  as  self-conscious  as  Drina — slumping 
there  with  your  hair  tumbling  a  la  Merode !  Oh,  it's 
very  picturesque,  of  course,  , but  a  straight  spine  and 
good  grooming  is  better.  Get  up,  little  blue-stockings 
and  we'll  have  our  hair  done — if  you  expect  to  appear 
at  Hitherwood  House  with  me !  " 

Eileen  laughed,  calmly  smoothing  out  her  skirt 
over  her  slim  ankles ;  then  she  closed  the  book,  sat  up, 
and  looked  happily  at  Selwyn. 

"Fogy  and  Bas-bleu"  she, repeated.  "But  it  is 
fascinating,  isn't  it? — even  if  my  hair  is  across  my 
ears  and  you  sit  that  chair  like  a- polo  player!  Nina, 
dearest,  what  is  your  mature  opinion  concerning  the 
tomoya  and  the  Buddhist  cross  ?  " 

"  I  know  more  about  a  tomboy-a  than  a  tomoya, 
my  saucy  friend,"  observed  Nina,  surveying  her  with 
disapproval — "  and  I  can  be  as  cross  about  it  as 
any  Buddhist,  too.  You  are,  to  express  it  as  pleas 
antly  as  possible,  a  sight !  Child,  what  on  earth  have 
24  359 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


you  been  doing?  There  are  two  smears  on  your 
cheeks!" 

"  I've  been  crying,"  said  the  girl,  with  an  amused 
sidelong  flutter  of  her  lids  toward  Selwyn. 

"  Crying !  "  repeated  Nina  incredulously.  Then, 
disarmed  by  the  serene  frankness  of  the  girl,  she  added : 
"  A  blue-stocking  is  bad  enough,  but  a  grimy  one  is 
impossible.  Allans!  Vite!  "  she  insisted,  driving  Eileen 
before  her ;  "  the  country  is  demoralising  you.  Philip, 
we're  dining  early,  so  please  make  your  arrangements 
to  conform.  Come,  Eileen ;  have  you  never  before  seen 
Philip  Selwyn?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ever  have,"  she  replied,  with 
a  curious  little  smile  at  Sehtyn:  Nina  had  her  by  the 
hand,  but  she  dragged  bacfi^like  a  mischievously  re 
luctant  child  hustled  bedw 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  tretching  out  her  hand  to 
Selwyn — "  good-bye,  my  ™f ortunate  fellow  fogy !  I 
go,  slumpy,  besmudged,  M^iappy;  I  return,  super 
ficially  immaculate — fetat^inpr  smcjcings  will  still  be  blue ! 
...  Nina,  dear,  \f  jtou^pon't  stop  dragging  me  I'll 
pick  you  up  in  my  armfe^— indeed  I  will " 

There  was  a  lau]gh,\a  smothered  cry  of  protest; 
and  Selwyn  was  the'xamused  spectator  of  his  sister 
suddenly  seizecS^knd  Wfted  into  a  pair  of  vigorous 
young  arms,  anc^smivried  into  the  house  by  this  tall, 
laughing  girl  who,Wn  hour  before,  had  lain  there 
among  the  cushions,  frightened,  unconvinced,  clinging 
instinctively  to  the  last  gay  rags  and  tatters  of  the 
childhood  which  she  feared  were  to  be  stripped  from 
her  for  ever. 

It  was  clear  starlight  when  they  were  ready  to  de 
part.  Austin  had  arrived  unexpectedly,  and  he,  Nina, 

360 


A    NOVICE 


Eileen,  and  Selwyn  were  to  drive  to  Hitherwood  House, 
Lansing  and  Gerald  going  in  the  motor-boat. 

There  was  a  brief  scene  between  Drina  and  Boots — 
the  former  fiercely  pointing  out  the  impropriety  of 
a  boy  like  Gerald  being  invited  where  she,  Drina,  was 
ignored.  But  there  was  no  use  in  Boots  offering  to 
remain  and  comfort  her  as  Drina  had  to  go  to  bed, 
anyway;  so  she  kissed  him  good-bye  very  tearfully, 
and  generously  forgave  Gerald;  and  comforted  her 
self  before  she  retired  by  putting  on  one  of  her 
mother's  gowns  and  pinning  up  her  hair  and  parading 
before  a  pier-glass  until  her  nurse  announced  that  her 
bath  was  waiting. 

The  drive  to  Hitherwood  House  was  a  dream  of 
loveliness ;  under  the  stars  the  Bay  of  Shoals  sparkled 
in  the  blue  darkness  set  with  the  gemmed  ruby  and 
sapphire  and  emerald  of  ships'  lanterns  glowing  from 
unseen  yachts  at  anchor. 

The  great  flash-light  on  Wonder  Head  broke  out 
in  brilliancy,  faded,  died  to  a  cinder,  grew  perceptible 
again,  and  again  blazed  blindingly  in  its  endless  monot 
onous  routine;  far  lights  twinkled  on  the  Sound,  and 
farther  away  still,  at  sea.  Then  the  majestic  velvety 
shadow  of  the  Hither  Woods  feU  over  them;  and  they 
passed  in  among  the  trees,  the  lamps  of  the  depot 
wagon  shining  golden  in  the  forest  gloom. 

Selwyn  turned  instinctively  to  the  young  girl  be 
side  him.  Her  face  was  in  shadow,  but  she  responded 
with  the  slightest  movement  toward  him: 

"  This  dusk  is  satisfying — like  sleep — this  wide, 
quiet  shadow  over  the  world.  Once — and  not  so  very 
long  ago — I  thought  it  a  pity  that  the  sun  should 
ever  set.  ...  I  wonder  if  I  am  growing  old — because 

361 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


I  feel  the  least  bit  tired  to-night.  For  the  first  time 
that  I  can  remember  a  day  has  been  a  little  too  long 
for  me." 

She  evidently  did  not  ascribe  her  slight  sense  of 
fatigue  to  the  scene  on  the  veranda ;  perhaps  she  was 
too  innocent  to  surmise  that  any  physical  effect  could 
follow  that  temporary  stress  of  emotion.  A  quiet 
sense  of  relief  in  relaxation  from  effort  came  over  her 
as  she  leaned  back,  conscious  that  there  was  happiness 
in  rest  and  silence  and  the  soft  envelopment  of  dark 
ness. 

"  If  it  would  only  last,"  she  murmured  lazily. 

"What,  Eileen?" 

"  This  heavenly  darkness — and  our  drive,  together. 
.  .  .  You  are  quite  right  not  to  talk  to  me;  I  won't, 
either.  .  .  .  Only  I'll  drone  on  and  on  from  time  to 
time — so  that  you  won't  forget  that  I  am  here  beside 
you." 

She  lay  so  still  for  a  while  that  at  last  Nina  leaned 
forward  to  look  at  her;  then  laughed. 

"  She's  asleep,"  she  said  to  Austin. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  murmured  the  girl,  unclosing  her 
eyes ;  "  Captain  Selwyn  knows ;  don't  you  ?  .  .  .  What 
is  that  sparkling — a  fire-fly  ?  " 

But  it  was  the  first  paper  lantern  glimmering 
through  the  Hitherwood  trees  from  the  distant  lawn. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Eileen,  sitting  up  with  an  ef 
fort,  and  looking  sleepily  at  Selwyn.  "  J'ai  sommeil — 
besoin — dormir " 

But  a  few  minutes  later  they  were  in  the  great 
hall  of  Hitherwood  House,  opened  from  end  to  end 
to  the  soft  sea  wind,  and  crowded  with  the  gayest, 
noisiest  throng  that  had  gathered  there  in  a  twelve 
month. 

362 


'A    NOVICE 


Everywhere  the  younger  set  were  in  evidence ;  slim, 
fresh,  girlish  figures  passed  and  gathered  and  crowded 
the  stairs  and  galleries  with  a  flirt  and  flutter  of 
winnowing  skirts,  delicate  and  light  as  powder-puffs. 

Mrs.  Sanxon  Orchil,  a  hard,  highly  coloured,  tight- 
lipped  little  woman  with  electric-blue  eyes,  was  receiv 
ing  with  her  slim  brunette  daughter,  Gladys. 

"  A  tight  little  craft,"  was  Austin's  invariable 
comment  on  the  matron;  and  she  looked  it,  always 
trim  and  trig  and  smooth  of  surface  like  a  converted 
yacht  cleared  for  action. 

Near  her  wandered  her  husband,  orientally  bland, 
invariably  affable,  and  from  time  to  time  squinting 
sideways,  as  usual,  in  the  ever-renewed  expectation  that 
he  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  stiff,  retrousse  mous 
tache. 

The  Lawns  were  there,  the  Minsters,  the  Craigs 
from  Wyossett,  the  Grays  of  Shadow  Lake,  the  Dray- 
mores,  Fanes,  Mottlys,  Cardwells — in  fact,  it  seemed 
as  though  all  Long  Island  had  been  drained  from 
Cedarhurst  to  Islip  and  from  Oyster  Bay  to  Wyossett, 
to  pour  a  stream  of  garrulous  and  animated  youth  and 
beauty  into  the  halls  and  over  the  verandas  and  ter 
races  and  lawns  of  Hitherwood  House. 

It  was  to  be  a  lantern  frolic  and  a  lantern  dance 
and  supper,  all  most  formally  and  impressively  sans 
fa$on.  And  it  began  with  a  candle-race  for  a  big 
silver  gilt  cup — won  by  Sandon  Craig  and  his  partner, 
Evelyn  Cardwell,  who  triumphantly  bore  their  lighted 
taper  safely  among  the  throngs  of  hostile  contestants, 
through  the  wilderness  of  flitting  lights,  and  across 
the  lawn  to  the  goal  where  they  planted  it,  unextin- 
guished,  in  the  big  red  paper  lantern. 

Selwyn  and  Eileen  came  up  breathless  and  laugh- 
363 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


ing  with  the  others,  she  holding  aloft  their  candle, 
which  somebody  had  succeeded  in  blowing  out;  and 
everybody  cheered  the  winners,  significantly,  for  it  was 
expected  that  Miss  Cardwell's  engagement  to  young 
Craig  would  be  announced  before  very  long. 

Then  rockets  began  to  rush  aloft,  starring  the 
black  void  with  iridescent  fire;  and  everybody  went 
to  the  lawn's  edge  where,  below  on  the  bay,  a  dozen 
motor-boats,  dressed  fore  and  aft  with  necklaces  of 
electric  lights,  crossed  the  line  at  the  crack  of  a 
cannon  in  a  race  for  another  trophy. 

Bets  flew  as  the  excitement  grew,  Eileen  confining 
hers  to  gloves  and  bonbons,  and  Selwyn  loyally  tak 
ing  any  offers  of  any  kind  as  he  uncompromisingly 
backed  Gerald  and  Boots  in  the  new  motor-boat — the 
Blue  Streak — Austin's  contribution  to  the  Silverside 
navy. 

And  sure  enough,  at  last  a  blue  rocket  soared  aloft, 
bursting  into  azure  magnificence  in  the  zenith;  and 
Gerald  and  Boots  came  climbing  up  to  the  lawn  to 
receive  prize  and  compliments,  and  hasten  away  to 
change  their  oilskins  for  attire  more  suitable. 

Eileen,  turning  to  Selwyn,  held  up  her  booking 
list  in  laughing  dismay :  "  I've  won  about  a  ton  of 
bonbons,"  she  said,  "  and  too  many  pairs  of  gloves  to 
feel  quite  comfortable." 

"  You  needn't  wear  them  all  at  once,  you  know," 
he  assured  her. 

"  Nonsense !  I  mean  that  I  don't  care  to  win 
things.  Oh !  " — and  she  laid  her  hand  impulsively  on 
his  arm  as  a  huge  sheaf  of  rockets  roared  skyward, 
apparently  from  the  water. 

Then,  suddenly,  Neergard's  yacht  sprang  into 
view,  outlined  in  electricity  from  stem  to  stern,  every 


A    NOVICE 


spar  and  funnel  and  contour  of  hull  and  super 
structure  twinkling  in  jewelled  brilliancy. 

On  a  great  improvised  open  pavilion  set  up  in 
the  Hither  Woods,  garlanded  and  hung  thick  with 
multi-coloured  paper  lanterns,  dancing  had  already 
begun;  but  Selwyn  and  Eileen  lingered  on  the  lawn 
for  a  while,  fascinated  by  the  beauty  of  the  fireworks 
pouring  skyward  from  the  Niobrara. 

"  They  seem  to  be  very  gay  aboard  her,"  mur 
mured  the  girl.  "  Once  you  said  that  you  did  not  like 
Mr.  Neergard.  Do  you  remember  saying  it  ?  " 

He  replied  simply,  "  I  don't  like  him ;  and  I  re 
member  saying  so." 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  that  Gerald  does." 

Selwyn  looked  at  the  illuminated  yacht.  ..."  I 
wonder  whether  any  of  Neergard's  crowd  is  expected 
ashore  here.  Do  you  happen  to  know?  " 

She  did  not  know.  A  moment  later,  to  his  an 
noyance,  Edgerton  Lawn  came  up  and  asked  her  to 
dance;  and  she  went  with  a  smile  and  a  whispered: 
"  Wait  for  me — if  you  don't  mind.  I'll  come  back  to 

you." 

It  was  all  very  well  to  wait  for  her — and  even  to 
dance  with  her  after  that ;  but  there  appeared  to  be 
no  peace  for  him  in  prospect,  for  Scott  Innis  came 
and  took  her  away,  and  Gladys  Orchil  offered  herself 
to  him  very  prettily,  and  took  him  away;  and  after 
that,  to  his  perplexity  and  consternation,  a  perfect 
furor  for  him  seemed  to  set  in  and  grow  among  the 
younger  set,  and  the  Minster  twins  had  him,  and 
Hilda  Innis  appropriated  him,  and  Evelyn  Cardwell, 
and  even  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes  took  a  hand  in  the  badg 
ering. 

At  intervals  he  caught  glimpses  of  Eileen  through 
365 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


the  gay  crush  around  him;  he  danced  with  Nina,  and 
suggested  to  her  it  was  time  to  leave,  but  that  young 
matron  had  tasted  just  enough  to  want  more;  and 
Eileen,  too,  was  evidently  having  a  most  delightful 
time.  So  he  settled  into  the  harness  of  pleasure  and 
was  good  to  the  pink-and-white  ones;  and  they  told 
each  other  what  a  "  dear "  he  was,  and  adored  him 
more  inconveniently  than  ever. 

Truly  enough,  as  he  had  often  said,  these  younger 
ones  were  the  charmingly  wholesome  and  refreshing 
antidote  to  the  occasional  misbehaviour  of  the  mature. 
They  were,  as  he  also  asserted,  the  hope  and  promise 
of  the  social  fabric  of  a  nation — this  younger  set — 
always  a  little  better,  a  little  higher-minded  than  their 
predecessors  as  the  wheel  of  the  years  slowly  turned 
them  out  in  gay,  eager,  fearless  throngs  to  teach  a 
cynical  generation  the  rudiments  of  that  wisdom  which 
blossoms  most  perfectly  in  the  hearts  of  the  un- 
awakened. 

Yes,  he  had  frequently  told  himself  all  this;  told 
it  to  others,  too.  But,  now,  the  younger  set,  en  masse 
and  in  detail,  had  become  a  little  bit  cramponne — a 
trifle  too  all-pervading.  And  it  was  because  his  regard 
for  them,  in  the  abstract,  had  become  centred  in  a 
single  concrete  example  that  he  began  to  find  the 
younger  set  a  nuisance.  But  others,  it  seemed,  were 
quite  as  mad  about  Eileen  Erroll  as  he  was ;  and  there 
seemed  to  be  small  chance  for  him  to  possess  him 
self  of  her,  unless  he  were  prepared  to  make  the  mat 
ter  of  possession  a  pointed  episode.  This  he  knew 
he  had  no  right  to  do;  she  had  conferred  no  such 
privilege  upon  him;  and  he  was  obliged  to  be  careful 
of  what  he  did  and  said  lest  half  a  thousand  bright 
unwinking  eyes  wink  too  knowingly — lest  frivolous 

366 


A    NOVICE 


tongues  go  clip-clap,  and  idle  brains  infer  that  which, 
alas !  did  not  exist  except  in  his  vision  of  desire. 

The  Hither  Woods  had  been  hung  with  myriads  of 
lanterns.  From  every  branch  they  swung  in  clusters 
or  stretched  away  into  perspective,  turning  the  wooded 
aisles  to  brilliant  vistas.  Under  them  the  more  ro 
mantic  and  the  dance-worn  strolled  in  animated  groups 
or  quieter  twos ;  an  army  of  servants  flitted  hither  and 
thither,  serving  the  acre  or  so  of  small  tables  over 
each  of  which  an  electric  cluster  shed  yellow  light. 

Supper,  and  then  the  Woodland  cotillon  was  the 
programme;  and  almost  all  the  tables  were  filled  be 
fore  Selwyn  had  an  opportunity  to  collect  Nina  and 
Austin  and  capture  Eileen  from  a  very  rosy-cheeked 
and  indignant  boy  who  had  quite  lost  his  head  and 
heart  and  appeared  to  be  on  the  verge  of  a  headlong 
declaration. 

"  It's  only  Percy  Draymore's  kid  brother,"  she  ex 
plained,  passing  her  arm  through  his  with  a  little  sigh 
of  satisfaction.  "  Where  have  you  been  all  the  while? — 
and  with  whom  have  you  danced,  please? — and  who  is 
the  pretty  girl  you  paid  court  to  during  that  last 
dance?  What?  Didn't  pay  court  to  her?  Do  you  ex 
pect  me  to  believe  that?  .  .  .  Oh,  here  comes  Nina  and 
Austin.  .  .  .  How  pretty  the  tables  look,  all  lighted  up 
among  the  trees !  And  such  an  uproar !  " — as  they 
came  into  the  jolly  tumult  and  passed  in  among  a  laby 
rinth  of  tables,  greeted  laughingly  from  every  side. 

Under  a  vigorous  young  oak-tree  thickly  festooned 
with  lanterns  Austin  found  an  unoccupied  table.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  racket  and  laughter  from  the 
groups  surrounding  them,  but  this  seemed  to  be  the 
only  available  spot ;  besides,  Austin  was  hungry,  and  he 
said  so. 

367 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Nina,  with  Selwyn  on  her  left,  looked  around  for 
Gerald  and  Lansing.  When  the  latter  came  sauntering 
up,  Austin  questioned  him,  but  he  replied  carelessly 
that  Gerald  had  gone  to  join  some  people  whom  he, 
Lansing,  did  not  know  very  well. 

"  Why,  there  he  is  now !  "  exclaimed  Eileen,  catch 
ing  sight  of  her  brother  seated  among  a  very  noisy 
group  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  illuminated  zone.  "  Who 
are  those  people,  Nina?  Oh!  Rosamund  Fane  is  there, 
too ;  and — and " 

She  ceased  speaking  so  abruptly  that  Selwyn  turned 
around ;  and  Nina  bit  her  lip  in  vexation  and  glanced  at 
her  husband.  For,  among  the  overanimated  and  almost 
boisterous  group  which  was  attracting  the  attention  of 
everybody  in  the  vicinity  sat  Mrs.  Jack  Ruthven.  And 
Selwyn  saw  her. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her — looked  at  Gerald 
beside  her,  and  Neergard  on  the  other  side,  and  Rosa 
mund  opposite;  and  at  the  others,  whom  he  had  never 
before  seen.  Then  quietly,  but  with  heightened  colour, 
he  turned  his  attention  to  the  glass  which  the  servant 
had  just  filled  for  him,  and,  resting  his  hand  on  the 
stem,  stared  at  the  bubbles  crowding  upward  through  it 
to  the  foamy  brim. 

Nina  and  Boots  had  begun,  ostentatiously,  an  ex 
ceedingly  animated  conversation;  and  they  became  al 
most  aggressive,  appealing  to  Austin,  who  sat  back  with 
a  frown  on  his  heavy  face — and  to  Eileen,  who  was  sip 
ping  her  mineral  water  and  staring  thoughtfully  at  a 
big,  round,  orange-tinted  lantern  which  hung  like  the 
harvest  moon  behind  Gerald,  throwing  his  curly  head 
into  silhouette. 

What  conversation  there  was  to  carry,  Boots  and 
Nina  carried.  Austin  silently  satisfied  his  hunger,  eat- 

368 


I 

I 


A   NOVICE 


ing  and  drinking  with  a  sullen  determination  to  make 
no  pretence  of  ignoring  a  situation  that  plainly  an 
gered  him  deeply.  And  from  minute  to  minute  he 
raised  his  head  to  glare  across  at  Gerald,  who  evidently 
was  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  his  own  party. 

When  Nina  spoke  to  Eileen,  the  girl  answered 
briefly  but  with  perfect  composure.  Selwyn,  too,  added 
a  quiet  word  at  intervals,  speaking  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  a  little  tired  and  strained. 

It  was  that  note  of  fatigue  in  his  voice  which 
aroused  Eileen  to  effort — the  instinctive  move  to  protect 
— to  sustain  him.  Conscious  of  Austin's  suppressed 
but  increasing  anger  at  her  brother,  amazed  and  dis 
tressed  at  what  Gerald  had  done — for  the  boy's  very 
presence  there  was  an  affront  to  them  all — she  was  still 
more  sensitive  to  Selwyn's  voice ;  and  in  her  heart  she 
responded  passionately. 

Nina  looked  up,  surprised  at  the  sudden  transfor 
mation  in  the  girl,  who  had  turned  on  Boots  with  a 
sudden  flow  of  spirits  and  the  gayest  of  challenges ;  and 
their  laughter  and  badinage  became  so  genuine  and  so 
persistent  that,  combining  with  Nina,  they  fairly  swept 
Austin  from  his  surly  abstraction  into  their  toils;  and 
Selwyn's  subdued  laugh,  if  forced,  sounded  pleasantly, 
now,  and  his  drawn  face  seemed  to  relax  a  little  for  the 
time  being. 

Once  she  turned,  under  cover  of  the  general  conver 
sation  which  she  had  set  going,  and  looked  straight  into 
Selwyn's  eyes,  flashing  to  him  a  message  of  purest  loy 
alty  ;  and  his  silent  gaze  in  response  sent  the  colour  fly 
ing  to  her  cheeks. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  a  while — a  brave,  sweet 
effort ;  but  ears  could  not  remain  deaf  to  the  increasing 
noise  and  laughter — to  familiar  voices,  half-caught 

369 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


phrases,  indiscreet  even  in  the  fragments  understood. 
Besides,  Gerald  had  seen  them,  and  the  boy's  face  had 
become  almost  ghastly. 

Alixe,  unusually  flushed,  was  conducting  herself 
without  restraint ;  Neergard's  snickering  Jaugh  grew 
more  significant  and  persistent ;  even  Rosamund  spoke 
too  loudly  at  moments ;  and  once  she  looked  around  at 
Nina  and  Selwyn  while  her  pretty,  accentless  laughter, 
rippling  with  its  undertone  of  malice,  became  more  fre 
quent  in  the  increasing  tumult. 

There  was  no  use  in  making  a  pretence  of  further 
gaiety.  Austin  had  begun  to  scowl  again ;  Nina,  with 
one  shocked  glance  at  Alixe,  leaned  over  toward  her 
brother : 

"  It  is  incredible ! "  she  murmured ;  "  she  must  be 
perfectly  mad  to  make  such  an  exhibition  of  herself. 
Can't  anybody  stop  her?  Can't  anybody  send  her 
home?"  * 

Austin  said  sullenly  but  distinctly :  "  The  thing 
for  us  to  do  is  to  get  out.  .  .  .  Nina — if  you  are 
ready " 

"But— but  what  about  Gerald?"  faltered  Eileen, 
turning  piteously  to  Selwyn.  "  We  can't  leave  him — 
there!" 

The  man  straightened  up  and  turned  his  drawn  face 
toward  her: 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  get  him  ?  " 

"  Y-you  can't  do  that — can  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can ;  if  you  wish  it.  Do  you  think  there  is 
anything  in  the  world  I  can't  do,  if  you  wish  it  ?  " 

As  he  rose  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm: 

"  I — I  don't  ask  it — "  she  began. 

"  You  do  not  have  to  ask  it,"  he  said  with  a  smile 
almost  genuine.  "  Austin,  I'm  going  to  get  Gerald — 

370 


A    NOVICE 


and  Nina  will  explain  to  you  that  he's  to  be  left  to  me 
if  any  sermon  is  required.  I'll  go  back  with  him  in  the 
motor-boat.  Boots,  you'll  drive  home  in  my  place." 

As  he  turned,  still  smiling  and  self-possessed,  Eileen 
whispered  rapidly :  "  Don't  go.  I  care  for  you  too 
much  to  ask  it." 

He  said  under  his  breath :  "  Dearest,  you  cannot  un 
derstand." 

"  Yes — I  do  !  Don't  go.  Philip — don't  go  near — 
her " 

"  I  must." 

"  If  you  do — if  you  go — h-how  can  you  c-care  for 
me  as  you  say  you  do? — when  I  ask  you  not  to — when 
I  cannot  endure — to " 

She  turned  swiftly  and  stared  across  at  Alixe;  and 
Alixe,  unsteady  in  the  flushed  brilliancy  of  her  youthful 
beauty?  half  rose  in  her  seat  and  stared  back. 

Instinctively  the  young  girl's  hand  tightened  on 
Selwyn's  arm :  "  She — she  is  beautiful !  "  she  faltered ; 
but  he  turned  and  led  her  from  the  table,  following  Aus 
tin,  his  sister,  and  Lansing ;  and  she  clung  to  him  almost 
convulsively  when  he  halted  on  the  edge  of  the  lawn. 

"  I  must  go  back,"  he  whispered — "  dearest — dear 
est — I  must." 

"T-to  Gerald?     Or— her?  " 

But  he  only  muttered :  "  They  don't  know  what 
they're  doing.  Let  me  go,  Eileen  " — gently  detaching 
her  fingers,  which  left  her  hands  lying  in  both  of  his. 

She  said,  looking  up  at  him :  "  If  you  go — if  you 
go — whatever  time  you  return — no  matter  what  hour — 
knock  at  my  door.  Do  you  promise?  I  shall  be  awake. 
Do  you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  a  trace  of  impatience — the  only 
hint  of  his  anger  at  the  prospect  of  the  duty  before  him. 

371 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


So  she  went  away  with  Nina  and  Austin  and  Boots ; 
and  Selwyn  turned  back,  sauntering  quietly  toward  the 
table  where  already  the  occupants  had  apparently  for 
gotten  him  and  the  episode  in  the  riotous  gaiety  increas 
ing  with  the  accession  of  half  a  dozen  more  men. 

When  Selwyn  approached,  Neergard  saw  him  first, 
stared  at  him,  and  snickered ;  but  he  greeted  everybody 
with  smiling  composure,  nodding  to  those  he  knew — a 
trifle  more  formally  to  Mrs.  Ruthven — and,  coolly  pull 
ing  up  a  chair,  seated  himself  beside  Gerald. 

"  Boots  has  driven  home  with  the  others,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice ;  "  I'm  going  back  in  the  motor-boat  with 
you.  Don't  worry  about  Austin.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

The  boy  had  evidently  let  the  wine  alone,  or  else 
fright  had  sobered  him,  for  he  looked  terribly  white  and 
tired :  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  when  you  wish.  I  sup 
pose  they'll  never  forgive  me  for  this.  Come  on." 

"  One  moment,  then,"  nodded  Selwyn ;  "  I  want  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Ruthven."  And,  quietly  turning  to 
Alixe,  and  dropping  his  voice  to  a  tone  too  low  for 
Neergard  to  hear — for  he  was  plainly  attempting  to 
listen  : 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake ;  do  you  understand  ? 
Whoever  is  your  hostess — wherever  you  are  staying — 
find  her  and  go  there  before  it  is  too  late." 

She  inclined  her  pretty  head  thoughtfully,  eyes  on 
the  wine-glass  which  she  was  turning  round  and  round 
between  her  slender  fingers.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
*  too  late  '  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Don't  you  know  that  every 
thing  is  too  late  for  me  now  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Alixe?  "  he  returned,  watch 
ing  her  intently. 

"  What  I  say.  I  have  not  seen  Jack  Ruthven  for 
two  months.  Do  you  know  what  that  means?  I  have 

372 


A    NOVICE 


not  heard  from  him  for  two  months.  Do  you  know 
what  that  means?  No?  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Philip;  it 
means  that  when  I  do  hear  from  him  it  will  be  through 
his  attorneys." 

He  turned  slightly  paler:  "  Why?  " 

"  Divorce,"  she  said  with  a  reckless  little  laugh — 
"  and  the  end  of  things  for  me." 

"  On  what  grounds  ? "  he  demanded  doggedly. 
"  Does  he  threaten  you  ?  " 

She  made  no  movement  or  reply,  reclining  there, 
one  hand  on  her  wine-glass,  the  smile  still  curving  her 
lips.  And  he  repeated  his  question  in  a  low,  distinct 
voice — too  low  for  Neergard  to  hear;  and  he  was  still 
listening. 

"  Grounds  ?  Oh,  he  thinks  I've  misbehaved  with — 
never  mind  who.  It  is  not  true — but  he  cares  nothing 
about  that,  either.  You  see  " — and  she  bent  nearer, 
confidentially,  with  a  mysterious  little  nod  of  her  pretty 
head — "  you  see,  Jack  Ruthven  is  a  little  insane.  .  .  . 
You  are  surprised?  Pooh!  I've  suspected  it  for 
months." 

He  stared  at  her ;  then :  "  Where  are  you  stop- 
ping?" 

"  Aboard  the  Niobrara." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Fane  a  guest  there,  too?  " 

He  spoke  loud  enough  for  Rosamund  to  hear;  and 
she  answered  for  herself  with  a  smile  at  him,  brimful  of 
malice  : 

"  Delighted  to  have  you  come  aboard,  Captain  Sel- 
wyn.  Is  that  what  you  are  asking  permission  to  do?  " 

"  Thanks,"  he  returned  dryly ;  and  to  Alixe :  "  If 
you  are  ready,  Gerald  and  I  will  take  you  over  to  the 
Niobrara  in  the  motor-boat " 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't !  "  broke  in  Neergard  with  a 
373 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


sneer — "  you'll  mind  your  own  business,  my  intrusive 
friend,  and  I'll  take  care  of  my  guests  without  your  as 
sistance." 

Selwyn  appeared  not  to  hear  him :  "  Come  on,  Ger 
ald,"  he  said  pleasantly ;  "  Mrs.  Ruthven  is  going  over 
to  the  Niobrara " 

"  For  God's  sake,"  whispered  Gerald,  white  as  a 
sheet,  "  don't  force  me  into  trouble  with  Neergard." 

Selwyn  turned  on  him  an  astonished  gaze :  "  Are 
you  afraid  of  that  whelp  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  muttered  the  boy—"  I— I'll  explain  later. 
But  don't  force  things  now,  I  beg  you." 

Mrs.  Ruthven  coolly  leaned  over  and  spoke  to  Ger 
ald  in  a  low  voice ;  then,  to  Selwyn,  she  said  with  a  smile : 
"  Rosamund  and  I  are  going  to  Brookminster,  any 
way,  so  you  and  Gerald  need  not  wait.  .  .  .  And  thank 
you  for  coming  over.  It  was  rather  nice  of  you  " — 
she  glanced  insolently  at  Neergard — "  considering  the 
crowd  we're  with.  Good-night,  Captain  Selwyn !  Good 
night,  Gerald.  So  very  j  oily  to  have  seen  you  again !  " 
And,  under  her  breath  to  Selwyn :  "  You  need  not 
worry ;  I  am  going  in  a  moment.  Good-bye  and — 
thank  you,  Phil.  It  is  good  to  see  somebody  of  one's 
own  caste  again." 

A  few  moments  later,  Selwyn  and  Gerald  in  their 
oilskins  were  dashing  eastward  along  the  coast  in  the 
swiftest  motor-boat  south  of  the  Narrows. 

The  boy  seemed  deathly  tired  as  they  crossed  the 
dim  lawn  at  Silverside.  Once,  on  the  veranda  steps  he 
stumbled,  and  Selwyn's  arm  sustained  him;  but  the 
older  man  forbore  to  question  him,  and  Gerald,  tight- 
lipped  and  haggard,  offered  no  confidence  until,  at  the 
door  of  his  bedroom,  he  turned  and  laid  an  unsteady 

374 


A    NOVICE 


hand  on  Selwyn's  shoulder :     "  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
— to-morrow.     May  I  ?  " 

"  You  know  you  may,  Gerald.  I  am  always  ready 
to  stand  your  friend." 

"  I  know.  ...  I  must,  have  been  crazy  to  doubt  it. 
You  are  very  good  to  me.  I — I  am  in  a  very  bad  fix. 
I've  got  to  tell  you." 

"  Then  we'll  get  you  out  of  it,  old  fellow,"  said 
Selwyn  cheerfully.  "  That's  what  friends  are  for, 
too." 

The  boy  shivered — looked  at  the  floor,  then,  without 
raising  his  eyes,  said  good-night,  and,  entering  his  bed 
room,  closed  the  door. 

As  Selwyn  passed  back  along  the  corridor,  the  door 
of  his  sister's  room  opened,  and  Austin  and  Nina  con 
fronted  him. 

"  Has  that  damf  ool  boy  come  in  ?  "  demanded  his 
brother-in-law,  anxiety  making  his  voice  tremulous 
under  its  tone  of  contempt. 

"  Yes.  Leave  him  to  me,  please.  Good-night  " — 
submitting  to  a  tender  embrace  from  his  sister — "  I 
suppose  Eileen  has  retired,  hasn't  she?  It's  an  ungodly 
hour — almost  sunrise." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  Eileen  is  asleep,"  said  Nina ; 
"  she  expected  a  word  with  you,  I  understand.  But 
don't  sit  up — don't  let  her  sit  up  late.  We'll  be  a  com 
pany  of  dreadful  wrecks  at  breakfast,  anyway." 

And  his  sister  gently  closed  the  door  while  he  con 
tinued  on  to  the  end  of  the  corridor  and  halted  before 
Eileen's  room.  A  light  came  through  the  transom;  he 
waited  a  moment,  then  knocked  very  softly. 

"  Is  it  you?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes.     I  didn't  wake  you,  did  I?  " 

"No.     Is  Gerald  here?" 
25  375 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Yes,  in  his  own  room.  .  .  .  Did  you  wish  to  speak 
to  me  about  anything?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  heard  her  coming  to  the  door ;  it  opened  a  very 
little.  "  Good-night,"  she  whispered,  stretching  toward 
him  her  hand — "  that  was  all  I  wanted — to — to  touch 
you  before  I  closed  my  eyes  to-night." 

He  bent  and  looked  at  the  hand  lying  within  his 
own — the  little  hand  with  its  fresh  fragrant  palm 
upturned  and  the  white  fingers  relaxed,  drooping 
inward  above  it — at  the  delicate  bluish  vein  in  the 
smooth  wrist. 

Then  he  released  the  hand,  untouched  by  his  lips ; 
and  she  withdrew  it  and  closed  the  door ;  and  he  heard 
her  laugh  softly,  and  lean  against  it,  whispering : 

"  Now  that  I  am  safely  locked  in — I  merely  wish  to 
say  that — in  the  old  days — a  lady's  hand  was  sometimes 
— kissed.  .  .  .  Oh,  but  you  are  too  late,  my  poor 
friend !  I  can't  come  out ;  and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could — 
not  after  what  I  dared  to  say  to  you.  ...  In  fact,  I 
shall  probably  remain  locked  up  here  for  days  and  days. 
.  .  .  Besides,  what  I  said  is  out  of  fashion — has  no  sig 
nificance  nowadays — or,  perhaps,  too  much.  .  .  .  No,  I 
won't  dress  and  come  out — even  for  you.  Je  me  desha 
bille — je  fais  ma  toilette  de  nuit,  monsieur — et  je  vais 
mai/ntenant  m'agenouitter  et  faire  ma  priere.  Done — 
bon  soir — et  bonne  nuit " 

And,  too  low  for  him  to  hear  even  the  faintest 
breathing  whisper  of  her  voice — "  Good-night.  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart — with  all  my  heart — in  my  own 
fashion." 

He  had  been  asleep  an  hour,  perhaps  more,  when 
something  awakened  him,  and  he  found  himself  sitting 

376 


A   NOVICE 


bolt    upright    in    bed,    dawn    already    whitening    his 
windows. 

Somebody  was  knocking.  He  swung  out  of  bed, 
stepped  into  his  bath-slippers,  and,  passing  swiftly  to 
the  door,  opened  it.  Gerald  stood  there,  fully  dressed. 

"  I'm  going  to  town  on  the  early  train/'  began  the 
boy—"  I  thought  I'd  tell  you " 

"  Nonsense !     Gerald,  go  back  to  bed !  " 

"  I  can't  sleep,  Philip " 

"  Can't  sleep?  Oh,  that's  the  trouble,  is  it?  WeU, 
then,  sit  here  and  talk  to  me."  He  gave  a  might}7  yawn 
— "  I'm  not  sleepy,  either ;  I  can  go  days  without  it. 
Here! — here's  a  comfortable  chair  to  sprawl  in.  ... 
It's  daylight  already ;  doesn't  the  morning  air  smell 
sweet?  I've  a  jug  of  milk  and  some  grapes  and  peaches 
in  my  ice-cupboard  if  you  feel  inclined.  No  ?  All 
right ;  stretch  out,  sight  for  a  thousand  yards,  and  fire 
at  will." 

Gerald  strove  to  smile ;  for  a  while  he  lay  loosely  in 
the  arm-chair,  his  listless  eyes  intent  on  the  strange,  dim 
light  which  fell  across  the  waste  of  sea  fog.  Only  the 
water  along  the  shore's  edge  remained  visible ;  all  else 
was  a  blank  wall  behind  which,  stretching  to  the  hori 
zon,  lay  the  unseen  ocean.  Already  a  few  restless  gulls 
were  on  the  wing,  sheering  inland ;  and  their  raucous, 
treble  cries  accented  the  pallid  stillness. 

But  the  dawn  was  no  paler  than  the  boy's  face — no 
more  desolate.  Trouble  was  his,  the  same  old  trouble 
that  has  dogged  the  trail  of  folly  since  time  began ;  and 
Selwyn  knew  it  and  waited. 

At  last  the  boy  broke  out :  "  This  is  a  cowardly  trick 
— this  slinking  in  to  you  with  all  my  troubles  after  what 
you've  done  for  me — after  the  rotten  way  I've  treated 

you " 

377 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Look  here,  my  boy !  "  said  Selwyn  coolly,  crossing 
one  knee  over  the  other  and  dropping  both  hands  into 
the  pockets  of  his  pajamas — "  I  asked  you  to  come  to 
me,  didn't  I?  Well,  then;  don't  criticise  my  judgment 
in  doing  it.  It  isn't  likely  I'd  ask  you  to  do  a  cowardly 
thing." 

"  You  don't  understand  what  a  wretched  scrape  I'm 
in " 

"  I  don't  yet ;  but  you're  going  to  tell  me " 

"  Philip,  I  can't — I  simply  cannot.  It's  so  con 
temptible — and  you  warned  me — and  I  owe  you  already 
so  much " 

"  You  owe  me  a  little  money,"  observed  Selwyn  with 
a  careless  smile,  "  and  you've  a  lifetime  to  pay  it  in. 
What  is  the  trouble  now ;  do  you  need  more  ?  I  haven't 
an  awful  lot,  old  fellow — worse  luck ! — but  what  I  have 
is  at  your  call — as  you  know  perfectly  well.  Is  that  all 
that  is  worrying  you  ?  " 

"  No — not  all.  I — Neergard  has  lent  me  money — 
done  things — placed  me  under  obligations.  ...  I  liked 
him,  you  know;  I  trusted  him.  .  .  .  People  he  desired 
to  know  I  made  him  known  to.  He  was  a — a  trifle  per 
emptory  at  times — as  though  my  obligations  to  him  left 
me  no  choice  but  to  take  him  to  such  people  as  he  de 
sired  to  meet.  .  .  .  We — we  had  trouble — recently." 

"What  sort?" 

"  Personal.  I  felt — began  to  feel — the  pressure  on 
me.  There  was,  at  moments,  something  almost  of 
menace  in  his  requests  and  suggestions — an  importu 
nity  I  did  not  exactly  understand.  .  .  .  And  then  he 
said  something  to  me " 

"Go  on;  what?" 

"  He'd  been  hinting  at  it  before ;  and  even  when  I 
found  him  j  oiliest  and  most  amusing  and  companionable 

378 


A    NOVICE 


I  never  thought  of  him  as  a — a  social  possibility — I 
mean  among  those  who  really  count — like  my  own 
people » 

"  Oh !  he  asked  you  to  introduce  him  into  your  own 
family  circle  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  didn't  understand  it  at  first — until  some 
how  I  began  to  feel  the  pressure  of  it — the  vague  but 
constant  importunity.  .  .  .  He  was  a  good  fellow — at 
least  I  thought  so ;  I  hated  to  hurt  him — to  assume  any 
attitude  that  might  wound  him.  But,  good  heavens ! — 
he  couldn't  seem  to  understand  that  nobody  in  our 
family  would  receive  him — although  he  had  a  certain 
footing  with  the  Fanes  and  Harmons  and  a  few  others 
— like  the  Siowitha  people — or  at  least  the  men  of  those 
families.  Don't  you  see,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I  see.  Qo  on !  When  did  he  ask  to 
be  presented  to — your  sister?  " 

"W-who  told  you  that?"  asked  the  boy  with  an 
angry  flush. 

"  You  did — almost.  You  were  going  to,  anyway. 
So  that  was  it,  was  it?  That  was  when  you  realised  a 
few  things — understood  one  or  two  things  ;  was  it  not  ? 
.  .  .  And  how  did  you  reply?  Arrogantly,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Yes." 

"  With — a — some  little  show  of — a — contempt  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Exactly.  And  Neergard  —  was  put  out  — 
slightly?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  losing  some  of  his  colour. 
"  I — a  moment  afterward  I  was  sorry  I  had  spoken 
so  plainly;  but  I  need  not  have  been.  .  .  .  He  was 
very  ugly  about  it." 

"  Threats  of  calling  loans?  "  asked  Selwyn,  smiling. 
379 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Hints ;  not  exactly  threats.  I  was  in  a  bad  way, 
too — "  The  boy  winced  and  swallowed  hard;  then, 
with  sudden  white  desperation  stamped  on  his  drawn 
face :  "  Oh,  Philip — it — it  is  disgraceful  enough — but 
how  am  I  going  to  tell  you  the  rest? — how  can  I  speak 
of  this  matter  to  you " 

"What  matter?" 

"  A — about — about  Mrs.  Ruthven " 

"  What  matter?  "  repeated  Selwyn.  His  voice  rang 
a  little,  but  the  colour  had  fled  from  his  face. 

"  She  was — Jack  Ruthven  charged  her  with — and 
me — charged  me  with " 

"  You! » 

"  Yes." 

"Well— it  was  a  lie,  ^jasn't  it?"  Selwyn's  ashy 
lips  scarcely  moved,  but  his  eyes  were  narrowing  to  a 
glimmer.  "  It  was  a  lie,  rwasn't  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes — a  lie.  I'd  sag^  it,  anyway,  you  understand 
— but  it  really  was  a 

Selwyn  quietly  rleanMxSback  in  his  chair ;  a  little 
colour  returned  to  iu.s iNwaeefts. 

"  All  right — old  ikgow  " — his  voice  scarcely  quiv 
ered — "  all  right  ]tigpj  on.  I  knew,  of  course,  that 
Ruthven  lied,rlmt  M:  was  part  of  the  story  to  hear 
you  say  so.  <fio^n.  What  did  Ruthven  do?" 

"  There  has)  iheejfi  a  separation,"  said  the  boy  in 
a  low  voice.  'XHe  behaved  like  a  dirty  cad — she  had 
no  resources — no  means  of  support — "  He  hesitated, 
moistening  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue.  "  Mrs.  Ruth 
ven  has  been  very,  very  kind  to  me.  I  was — I  am  fond 
of  her ;  oh,  I  know  well  enough  I  never  had  any  business 
to  meet  her;  I  behaved  abominably  toward  you — and 
the  family.  But  it  was  done;  I  knew  her,  and  liked 
her  tremendously.  She  was  the  only  one  who  was  decent 

380 


A    NOVICE 


to  me — who  tried  to  keep  me  from  acting  like  a  fool 
about  cards " 

"  Did  she  try?" 

"  Yes — indeed,  yes !  .  .  .  and,  Phil — she — I  don't 
know  how  to  say  it — but  she — when  she  spoke  of — of 
you — begged  me  to  try  to  be  like  you.  .  .  .  And  it 
is  a  lie  what  people  say  about  her! — what  gossip 
says.  I  know ;  I  have  known  her  so  well — and — I  was 
like  other  men — charmed  and  fascinated  by  her ;  but 
the  women  of  that  set  are  a  pack  of  cats,  and  the 
men — well,  none  of  them  ever  ventured  to  say  any 
thing  to  me !  .  .  .  And  that  is  all,  Philip.  I  was  hor 
ribly  in  debt  to  Neergard;  then  Ruthven  turned  on 
me — and  on  her ;  and  I  borrowed  more  from  Neergard 
and  went  to  her  bank  and  deposited  it  to  the  credit 
of  her  account — but  she  doesn't  know  it  was  from  me 
— she  supposes  Jack  Ruthven  did  it  out  of  ordinary 
decency,  for  she  said  so  to  me.  And  that  is  how  mat 
ters  stand;  Neergard  is  ugly,  and  grows  more  threat 
ening  about  those  loans — and  I  haven't  any  money, 
and  Mrs.  Ruthven  will  require  more  very  soon " 

"  Is  that  aU  ?  "  demanded  Selwyn  sharply. 

"  Yes — all.  ...  I  know  I  have  behaved  shame 
fully " 

"  I've  seen,"  observed  Selwyn  in  a  dry,  hard  voice, 
"  worse  behaviour  than  yours.  .  .  .  Have  you  a  pen 
cil,  Gerald?  Get  a  sheet  of  paper  from  that  desk. 
Now,  write  out  a  list  of  the  loans  made  you  by  Neer 
gard.  .  .  .  Every  cent,  if  you  please.  .  .  .  And  the 
exact  amount  you  placed  to  Mrs.  Ruthven's  credit. 
.  .  .  Have  you  written  that?  Let  me  see  it." 

The  boy  handed  him  the  paper.  He  studied  it  with 
out  the  slightest  change  of  expression — knowing  all 
the  while  what  it  meant  to  him ;  knowing  that  this 

381 


CHAPTER    X 

LEX    NON    SCRIPTA 

SELWYN  had  gone  to  New  York  with  Gerald,  "  for 
a  few  days,"  as  he  expressed  it ;  but  it  was  now  the  first 
week  in  October,  and  he  had  not  yet  returned  to  Silver- 
side. 

A  brief  note  to  Nina  thanking  her  for  having  had 
him  at  Silverside,  and  speaking  vaguely  of  some  busi 
ness  matters  which  might  detain  him  indefinitely — a 
briefer  note  to  Eileen  regretting  his  inability  to  return 
for  the  present — were  all  the  communication  they  had 
from  him  except  news  brought  by  Austin,  who  came 
down  from  town  every  Friday. 

A  long  letter  to  him  from  Nina  still  remained  un 
answered  ;  Austin  had  seen  him  only  once  in  town ;  Lan 
sing,  now  back  in  New  York,  wrote  a  postscript  in  a 
letter  to  Drina,  asking  for  Selwyn's  new  address — the 
first  intimation  anybody  had  that  he  had  given  up  his 
lodgings  on  Lexington  Avenue. 

"  I  was  perfectly  astonished  to  find  he  had  gone, 
leaving  no  address,"  wrote  Boots ;  "  and  nobody  knows 
anything  about  him  at  his  clubs.  I  have  an  idea  that 
he  may  have  gone  to  Washington  to  see  about  the  Chaos- 
ite  affair ;  but  if  you  have  any  address  except  his  clubs, 
please  send  it  to  me." 

Eileen  had  not  written  him ;  his  sudden  leave-taking 
nearly  a  month  ago  had  so  astounded  her  that  she  could 

384 


LEX   NON   SCEIPTA 


not  believe  he  meant  to  be  gone  more  than  a  day  or  two. 
Then  came  his  note,  written  at  the  Patroons'  Club — very 
brief,  curiously  stilted  and  formal,  with  a  strange  tone 
of  finality  through  it,  as  though  he  were  taking  per 
functory  leave  of  people  who  had  come  temporarily  into 
his  life,  and  as  though  the  chances  were  agreeably  even 
of  his  ever  seeing  them  again. 

The  girl  was  not  hurt,  as  yet ;  she  remained  merely 
confused,  incredulous,  unreconciled.  That  there  was  to 
be  some  further  explanation  of  his  silence  she  never 
dreamed  of  doubting;  and  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
to  do  in  the  interval  but  await  it.  As  for  writing  him, 
some  instinct  forbade  it,  even  when  Nina  suggested  that 
she  write,  adding  laughingly  that  nothing  else  seemed 
likely  to  stir  her  brother. 

For  the  first  few  days  the  children  clamoured  inter 
mittently  for  him ;  but  children  forget,  and  Billy  contin 
ued  to  cast  out  his  pack  in  undying  hope  of  a  fox  or 
bunny,  and  the  younger  children  brought  their  butter 
fly-nets  and  sand-shovels  to  Austin  and  Nina  for  repairs  ; 
and  Drina,  when  Boots  deserted  her  for  his  Air  Line 
Company,  struck  up  a  wholesome  and  lively  friendship 
with  a  dozen  subfreshmen  and  the  younger  Orchil  girls, 
and  began  to  play  golf  like  a  little  fiend. 

It  was  possible,  now,  to  ride  cross-country;  and 
Nina,  who  was  always  in  terror  of  an  added  ounce  to  her 
perfect  figure,  rode  every  day  with  Eileen ;  and  Austin, 
on  a  big  hunter,  joined  them  two  days  in  the  week. 

There  were  dances,  too,  and  Nina  went  to  some  of 
them.  So  did  Eileen,  who  had  created  a  furor  among 
the  younger  brothers  and  undergraduates ;  and  the  girl 
was  busy  enough  with  sailing  and  motoring  and  dash 
ing  through  the  Sound  in  all  sorts  of  power  boats. 

Once,  under  Austin's  and  young  Craig's  supervision, 
385 


CHAPTER    X 

LEX    NON    SCRIPTA 

SELWYN  had  gone  to  New  York  with  Gerald,  "  for 
a  few  days,"  as  he  expressed  it ;  but  it  was  now  the  first 
week  in  October,  and  he  had  not  yet  returned  to  Silver- 
side. 

A  brief  note  to  Nina  thanking  her  for  having  had 
him  at  Silverside,  and  speaking  vaguely  of  some  busi 
ness  matters  which  might  detain  him  indefinitely — a 
briefer  note  to  Eileen  regretting  his  inability  to  return 
for  the  present — were  all  the  communication  they  had 
from  him  except  news  brought  by  Austin,  who  came 
down  from  town  every  Friday. 

A  long  letter  to  him  from  Nina  still  remained  un 
answered  ;  Austin  had  seen  him  only  once  in  town ;  Lan 
sing,  now  back  in  New  York,  wrote  a  postscript  in  a 
letter  to  Drina,  asking  for  Selwyn's  new  address — the 
first  intimation  anybody  had  that  he  had  given  up  his 
lodgings  on  Lexington  Avenue. 

"  I  was  perfectly  astonished  to  find  he  had  gone, 
leaving  no  address,"  wrote  Boots ;  "  and  nobody  knows 
anything  about  him  at  his  clubs.  I  have  an  idea  that 
he  may  have  gone  to  Washington  to  see  about  the  Chaos- 
ite  affair ;  but  if  you  have  any  address  except  his  clubs, 
please  send  it  to  me." 

Eileen  had  not  written  him ;  his  sudden  leave-taking 
nearly  a  month  ago  had  so  astounded  her  that  she  could 

384 


LEX   NON   SCBIPTA 


not  believe  he  meant  to  be  gone  more  than  a  day  or  two. 
Then  came  his  note,  written  at  the  Patroons'  Club — very 
brief,  curiously  stilted  and  formal,  with  a  strange  tone 
of  finality  through  it,  as  though  he  were  taking  per 
functory  leave  of  people  who  had  come  temporarily  into 
his  life,  and  as  though  the  chances  were  agreeably  even 
of  his  ever  seeing  them  again. 

The  girl  was  not  hurt,  as  yet ;  she  remained  merely 
confused,  incredulous,  unreconciled.  That  there  was  to 
be  some  further  explanation  of  his  silence  she  never 
dreamed  of  doubting ;  and  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
to  do  in  the  interval  but  await  it.  As  for  writing  him, 
some  instinct  forbade  it,  even  when  Nina  suggested  that 
she  write,  adding  laughingly  that  nothing  else  seemed 
likely  to  stir  her  brother. 

For  the  first  few  days  the  children  clamoured  inter 
mittently  for  him ;  but  children  forget,  and  Billy  contin 
ued  to  cast  out  his  pack  in  undying  hope  of  a  fox  or 
bunny,  and  the  younger  children  brought  their  butter 
fly-nets  and  sand-shovels  to  Austin  and  Nina  for  repairs  ; 
and  Drina,  when  Boots  deserted  her  for  his  Air  Line 
Company,  struck  up  a  wholesome  and  lively  friendship 
with  a  dozen  subfreshmen  and  the  younger  Orchil  girls, 
and  began  to  play  golf  like  a  little  fiend. 

It  was  possible,  now,  to  ride  cross-country;  and 
Nina,  who  was  always  in  terror  of  an  added  ounce  to  her 
perfect  figure,  rode  every  day  with  Eileen ;  and  Austin, 
on  a  big  hunter,  joined  them  two  days  in  the  week. 

There  were  dances,  too,  and  Nina  went  to  some  of 
them.  So  did  Eileen,  who  had  created  a  furor  among 
the  younger  brothers  and  undergraduates ;  and  the  girl 
was  busy  enough  with  sailing  and  motoring  and  dash 
ing  through  the  Sound  in  all  sorts  of  power  boats. 

Once,  under  Austin's  and  young  Craig's  supervision, 
385 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


she  tried  shore-bird  shooting ;  but  the  first  broken  wing 
from  the  gun  on  her  left  settled  the  thing  for  ever  for 
her,  and  the  horror  of  the  blood-sprinkled,  kicking  mass 
of  feathers  haunted  her  dreams  for  a  week. 

Youths,  however,  continued  to  hover  numerously 
about  her.  They  sat  in  soulful  rows  upon  the  veranda 
at  Silverside ;  they  played  guitars  at  her  in  canoes,  ac 
companying  the  stringy  thrumming  with  the  peculiarly 
exasperating  vocal  noises  made  only  by  very  young  un 
dergraduates  ;  they  rode  with  her  and  Nina ;  they  per 
vaded  her  vicinity  with  a  tireless  constancy  amounting 
to  obsession. 

She  liked  it  well  enough;  she  was  as  interested  in 
everything  as  usual;  as  active  at  the  nets,  playing  su 
perbly,  and  with  all  her  heart  in  the  game — while  it 
lasted;  she  swung  her  slim  brassy  with  all  the  old-time 
fire  and  satisfaction  in  the  clean,  sharp  whack,  as  the 
ball  flew  through  the  sunshine,  rising  beautifully  in  a 
long,  low  trajectory  against  the  velvet  fair-green. 

It  was  unalloyed  happiness  for  her  to  sit  her  saddle, 
feeling  under  her  the  grand  stride  of  her  powerful 
hunter  on  a  headlong  cross-country  gallop;  it  was 
purest  pleasure  for  her  to  lean  forward  in  her  oilskins, 
her  eyes  almost  blinded  with  salt  spray,  while  the  low 
motor-boat  rushed  on  and  on  through  cataracts  of  foam, 
and  the  heaving,  green  sea-miles  fled  away,  away,  in 
the  hissing  furrow  of  the  wake. 

Truly,  for  her,  the  world  was  still  green,  the  sun 
bright,  the  high  sky  blue;  but  she  had  not  forgotten 
that  the  earth  had  been  greener,  the  sun  brighter,  the 
azure  above  her  more  splendid — once  upon  a  time — like 
the  first  phrase  of  a  tale  that  is  told.  And  if  she  were 
at  times  listless,  absent-eyed,  subdued — a  trifle  graver, 
or  unusually  silent,  seeking  the  still  paths  of  the  gar- 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


den  as  though  in  need  of  youthful  meditation  and  the 
quiet  of  the  sunset  hour,  she  never  doubted  that  that 
tale  would  be  retold  for  her  again.  Only — alas  ! — the 
fair  days  were  passing,  and  the  russet  rustle  of  Octo 
ber  sounded  already  among  the  curling  leaves  in  the 
garden ;  and  he  had  been  away  a  long  time — a  very  long 
time.  And  she  could  not  understand. 

On  one  of  Austin's  week-end  visits,  the  hour  for 
conjugal  confab  having  arrived  and  husband  and  wife 
locked  in  the  seclusion  of  their  bedroom — being  old- 
fashioned  enough  to  occupy  the  same — he  said,  with  a 
trace  of  irritation  in  his  voice: 

"  I  don't  know  where  Phil  is,  or  what  he's  about. 
I'm  wondering — he's  got  the  Selwyn  conscience,  you 
know — what  he's  up  to — and  if  it's  any  kind  of  dam- 
foolishness.  Haven't  you  heard  a  word  from  him, 
Nina?" 

Nina,  in  her  pretty  night  attire,  had  emerged  from 
her  dressing-room,  locked  out  Kit-Ki  and  her  maid,  and 
had  curled  up  in  a  big,  soft  armchair,  cradling  her  bare 
ankles  in  her  hand. 

"  I  haven't  heard  from  him,"  she  said.  "  Rosa 
mund  saw  him  in  Washington — passed  him  on  the  street. 
He  was  looking  horridly  thin  and  worn,  she  wrote.  He 
did  not  see  her." 

"  Now  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  is  he  doing 
in  Washington  !  "  exclaimed  Austin  wrathfully.  "  Prob 
ably  breaking  his  heart  because  nobody  cares  to  exam 
ine  his  Chaosite.  I  told  him,  as  long  as  he  insisted  on 
bothering  the  Government  with  it  instead  of  making  a 
deal  with  the  Lawn  people,  that  I'd  furnish  him  with 
a  key  to  the  lobby.  I  told  him  I  knew  the  right  people, 
could  get  him  the  right  lawyers,  and  start  the  thing 
properly.  Why  didn't  he  come  to  me  about  it  ?  There's 

387 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


only  one  way  to  push  such  things,  and  he's  as  ignorant 
of  it  as  a  boatswain  in  the  marine  cavalry." 

Nina  said  thoughtfully :  "  You  always  were  impa 
tient  of  people,  dear.  Perhaps  Phil  may  get  them  to 
try  his  Chaosite  without  any  wire-pulling.  ...  I  do 
wish  he'd  write.  I  can't  understand  his  continued  silence. 
Hasn't  Boots  heard  from  him?  Hasn't  Gerald?  " 

"  Not  a  word.  And  by  the  way,  Nina,  Gerald  has 
done  rather  an  unexpected  thing.  I  saw  him  last  night ; 
he  came  to  the  house  and  told  me  that  he  had  just  sev 
ered  his  connection  with  Julius  Neergard's  company." 

"I'm  glad  of  it!"  exclaimed  Nina;  "I'm  glad  he 
showed  the  good  sense  to  do  it !  " 

"  Well — yes.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Neergard  is  go 
ing  to  be  a  very  rich  man  some  day ;  and  Gerald  might 
have —  But  I  am  not  displeased.  What  appeals  to  me 
is  the  spectacle  of  the  boy  acting  with  conviction  on  his 
own  initiative.  Whether  or  not  he  is  making  a  mistake 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  main  thing,  and  that  is  that 
Gerald,  for  the  first  time  in  his  rather  colourless  career, 
seems  to  have  developed  the  rudiments  of  a  backbone  out 
of  the  tail  which  I  saw  so  frequently  either  flourishing 
defiance  at  me  or  tucked  sullenly  between  his  hind  legs. 
I  had  quite  a  talk  with  him  last  night ;  he  behaved  very 
decently,  and  with  a  certain  modesty  which  may,  one 
day,  develop  into  something  approaching  dignity.  We 
spoke  of  his  own  affairs — in  which,  for  the  first  time, 
he  appeared  to  take  an  intelligent  interest.  Besides  that, 
he  seemed  willing  enough  to  ask  my  judgment  in  several 
matters — a  radical  departure  from  his  cub  days." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  for  him,  dear?  "  asked 
his  wife,  rather  bewildered  at  the  unexpected  news.  "  Of 
course  he  must  go  into  some  sort  of  business  again " 

"  Certainly.  And,  to  my  astonishment,  he  actually 
388 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


came  and  solicited  my  advice.  I — I  was  so  amazed,  Nina, 
that  I  could  scarcely  credit  my  own  senses.  I  managed 
to  say  that  I'd  think  it  over.  Of  course  he  can,  if  he 
chooses,  begin  everything  again  and  come  in  with  me. 
Or — if  I  am  satisfied  that  he  has  any  ability — he  can 
set  up  some  sort  of  a  real-estate  office  on  his  own  hook. 
I  could  throw  a  certain  amount  of  business  in  his  way — 
but  it's  all  in  the  air,  yet.  I'll  see  him  Monday,  and 
we'll  have  another  talk.  By  gad !  Nina,"  he  added,  with 
a  flush  of  half -shy  satisfaction  on  his  ruddy  face,  "  it's 
— it's  almost  like  having  a  grown-up  son  coming  bother 
ing  me  with  his  affairs  ;  ah — rather  agreeable  than  other 
wise.  There's  certainly  something  in  that  boy.  I — per 
haps  I  have  been,  at  moments,  a  trifle  impatient.  But 
I  did  not  mean  to  be.  You  know  that,  dear,  don't 
you?  " 

His  wife  looked  up  at  her  big  husband  in  quiet 
amusement.  "  Oh,  yes !  I  know  a  little  about  you," 
she  said,  "  and  a  little  about  Gerald,  too.  He  is  only 
a  masculine  edition  of  Eileen — the  irresponsible  freedom 
of  life  brought  out  all  his  faults  at  once,  like  a  horrid 
rash ;  it's  due  to  the  masculine  notion  of  masculine  edu 
cation.  His  sister's  education  was  essentially  the  con 
trary  :  humours  were  eradicated  before  first  symptoms 
became  manifest.  The  moral,  mental,  and  physical  drill 
ing  and  schooling  was  undertaken  and  accepted  without 
the  slightest  hope — and  later  without  the  slightest  de 
sire — for  any  relaxation  of  the  rigour  when  she  became 
of  age  and  mistress  of  herself.  That's  the  difference: 
a  boy  looks  forward  to  the  moment  when  he  can  flourish 
his  heels  and  wag  his  ears  and  bray ;  a  girl  has  no  such 
prospect.  Gerald  has  brayed ;  Eileen  never  will  flourish 
her  heels  unless  she  becomes  fashionable  after  marriage 

— which  isn't  very  likely " 

389 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Nina  hesitated,  another  idea  intruding. 

"  By  the  way,  Austin ;  the  Orchil  boy — the  one  in 
Harvard — proposed  to  Eileen — the  little  idiot!  She 
told  me — thank  goodness!  she  still  does  tell  me  things. 
Also  the  younger  and  chubbier  Draymore  youth  has 
offered  himself — after  a  killingly  proper  interview  with 
me.  I  thought  it  might  amuse  you  to  hear  of  it." 

"  It  might  amuse  me  more  if  Eileen  would  get  busy 
and  bring  Philip  into  camp,"  observed  her  husband. 
"  And  why  the  devil  they  don't  make  up  their  minds  to 
it  is  beyond  me.  That  brother  of  yours  is  the  limit 
sometimes.  I'm  fond  of  him — you  know  it — but  he  cer 
tainly  can  be  the  limit  sometimes." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Nina,  "  that  I  believe  he  is  in 
love  with  her?  " 

"  Then,  why  doesn't -" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  was  sure — I  am  sure  now — that 
the  girl  cares  more  for  him  than  for  anybody.  And  yet 
— and  yet  I  don't  believe  she  is  actually  in  love  with 
him.  Several  times  I  supposed  she  was — or  near  it,  any 
way.  .  .  .  But  they  are  a  curious  pair,  Austin — so 
quaint  about  it;  so  slow  and  old-fashioned.  .  .  .  And 
the  child  is  the  most  innocent  being — in  some  ways.  .  .  . 
Which  is  all  right  unless  she  becomes  one  of  those  pokey, 
earnest,  knowledge-absorbing  young  things  with  the 
very  germ  of  vitality  dried  up  and  withered  in  her 
before  she  awakens.  ...  I  don't  know — I  really  don't. 
For  a  girl  must  have  something  of  the  human  about  her 
to  attract  a  man,  and  be  attracted.  .  .  .  Not  that  she 
need  know  anything  about  love — or  even  suspect  it.  But 
there  must  be  some  response  in  her,  some — some " 

"  Deviltry  ?  "  suggested  Austin. 

His  pretty  wife  laughed  and  dropped  one  knee  over 
the  other,  leaning  back  to  watch  him  finish  his  good- 

390 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


night  cigarette.  After  a  moment  her  face  grew  grave, 
and  she  bent  forward. 

"  Speaking  of  Rosamund  a  moment  ago  reminds  me 
of  something  else  she  wrote — it's  about  Alixe.  Have 
you  heard  anything  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Austin,  with  a  frank  scowl, 
"  and  don't  want  to." 

"  It's  only  this — that  Alixe  is  ill.  Nobody  seems  to 
know  what  the  matter  is;  nobody  has  seen  her.  But 
she's  at  Clifton,  with  a  couple  of  nurses,  and  Rosamund 
heard  rumours  that  she  is  very  ill  indeed.  .  .  .  People 
go  to  Clifton  for  shattered  nerves,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  for  bridge-fidgets,  neurosis,  pip,  and  the 
various  jumps  that  originate  in  the  simpler  social  cir 
cles.  What's  the  particular  matter  with  her?  Too 
many  cocktails?  Or  a  dearth  of  grand  slams?  " 

"  You  are  brutal,  Austin.  Besides,  I  don't  know. 
She's  had  a  perfectly  dreary  life  with  her  husband.  .  .  . 
I — I  can't  forget  how  fond  I  was  of  her  in  spite  of 
what  she  did  to  Phil.  .  .  .  Besides,  I'm  beginning  to  be 
certain  that  it  was  not  entirely  her  fault." 

"  What?     Do  you  think  Phil " 

"  No,  no,  no !  Don't  be  an  utter  idiot.  All  I  mean 
to  say  is  that  Alixe  was  always  nervous  and  high- 
strung  ;  odd  at  times ;  eccentric — more  than  merely  ec 
centric " 

"  You  mean  dippy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Austin,  you're  horrid.  I  mean  that  there  is 
mental  trouble  in  that  family.  You  have  heard  of  it 
as  well  as  I ;  you  know  her  father  died  of  it " 

"  The   usual   defence   in   criminal   cases,"    observed 

Austin,  flicking  his  cigarette-end  into  the  grate.     "  I'm 

sorry,  dear,  that  Alixe  has  the  jumps;  hope  she'll  get 

over  'em.    But  as  for  pretending  I've  any  use  for  her,  I 

26  391 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


can't  and  don't  and  won't.  She  spoiled  life  for  the  best 
man  I  know ;  she  kicked  his  reputation  into  a  cocked  hat, 
and  he,  with  his  chivalrous  Selwyn  conscience,  let  her  do 
it.  I  did  like  her  once ;  I  don't  like  her  now,  and  that's 
natural  and  it  winds  up  the  matter.  Dear  friend,  shall 
we,  perhaps,  to  bed  presently  our  way  wend — yess  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  you  are  not  very  charitable  about 
Alixe.  And  I  tell  you  I've  my  own  ideas  about  her  ill 
ness — especially  as  she  is  at  Clifton.  ...  I  wonder 
where  her  little  beast  of  a  husband  is?  " 

But  Austin  only  yawned  and  looked  at  the  toes  of 
his  slippers,  and  then  longingly  at  the  pillows. 

Had  Nina  known  it,  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Ruthven, 
whom  she  had  characterised  so  vividly,  was  at  that  very 
moment  seated  in  a  private  card-room  at  the  Stuyvesant 
Club  with  Sanxon  Orchil,  George  Fane,  and  Bradley 
Harmon ;  and  the  game  had  been  bridge,  as  usual,  and 
had  gone  very  heavily  against  him. 

Several  things  had  gone  against  Mr.  Ruthven  re 
cently;  for  one  thing,  he  was  beginning  to  realise  that 
he  had  made  a  vast  mistake  in  mixing  himself  up  in  any 
transactions  with  Neergard. 

When  he,  at  Neergard's  cynical  suggestion,  had 
consented  to  exploit  his  own  club — the  Siowitha — and 
had  consented  to  resign  from  it  to  do  so,  he  had  every 
reason  to  believe  that  Neergard  meant  to  either  mulct 
them  heavily  or  buy  them  out.  In  either  case,  having 
been  useful  to  Neergard,  his  profits  from  the  transac 
tion  would  have  been  considerable. 

But,  even  while  he  was  absorbed  in  figuring  them 
up — and  he  needed  the  money,  as  usual — Neergard 
coolly  informed  him  of  his  election  to  the  club,  and 
Ruthven,  thunder-struck,  began  to  perceive  the  depth 

392 


LEX  NON  SCRIPTA 


of  the  underground  mole  tunnels  which  Neergard  had 
dug  to  undermine  and  capture  the  stronghold  which  had 
now  surrendered  to  him. 

Rage  made  him  ill  for  a  week ;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  do  about  it.  He  had  been  treacherous  to  his  club  and 
to  his  own  caste,  and  Neergard  knew  it — and  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  Ruthven  dared  not  protest — dared  not 
even  whimper. 

Then  Neergard  began  to  use  Ruthven  when  he 
needed  him;  and  he  began  to  permit  himself  to  win  at 
cards  in  Ruthven's  house — a  thing  he  had  not  dared 
to  do  before.  He  also  permitted  himself  more  ease  and 
freedom  in  that  house — a  sort  of  intimacy  sans  fa^on — 
even  a  certain  jocularity.  He  also  gave  himself  the 
privilege  of  inviting  the  Ruthvens  on  board  the  Nio- 
brara:  and  Ruthven  went,  furious  at  being  forced  to 
stamp  with  his  open  approval  an  episode  which  made 
Neergard  a  social  probability. 

How  it  happened  that  Rosamund  divined  something 
of  the  situation  is  not  quite  clear ;  but  she  always  had 
a  delicate  nose  for  anything  not  intended  for  her,  and 
the  thing  amused  her  immensely,  particularly  because 
what  viciousness  had  been  so  long  suppressed  in  Neer 
gard  was  now  tentatively  making  itself  apparent  in  his 
leering  ease  among  women  he  so  recently  feared. 

This,  also,  was  gall  and  wormwood  to  Ruthven,  so 
long  the  official  lap-dog  of  the  very  small  set  he  ken 
nelled  with;  and  the  women  of  that  set  were  perverse 
enough  to  find  Neergard  amusing,  and  his  fertility  in 
contriving  new  extravagances  for  them  interested  these 
people,  whose  only  interest  had  always  been  centred  in 
themselves. 

Meanwhile,  Neergard  had  almost  finished  with  Ger 
ald — he  had  only  one  further  use  for  him;  and  as  his 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


social  success  became  more  pronounced  with  the  people 
he  had  crowded  in  among,  he  became  bolder  and  more 
insolent,  no  longer  at  pains  to  mole-tunnel  toward  the 
object  desired,  no  longer  overcareful  about  his  mask. 
And  one  day  he  asked  the  boy  very  plainly  why  he  had 
never  invited  him  to  meet  his  sister.  And  he  got  an 
answer  that  he  never  forgot.  • 

And  all  the  while  Ruthven  squirmed  under  the  light 
but  steadily  inflexible  pressure  of  the  curb  which  Neer- 
gard  had  slipped  on  him  so  deftly ;  he  had  viewed  with 
indifference  Gerald's  boyish  devotion  to  his  wife,  which 
was  even  too  open  and  naive  to  be  of  interest  to  those 
who  witnessed  it.  But  he  had  not  counted  on  Neergard's 
sudden  hatred  of  Gerald ;  and  the  first  token  of  that  ha 
tred  fell  upon  the  boy  like  a  thunderbolt  when  Neergard 
whispered  to  Ruthven,  one  night  at  the  Stuyvesant  Club, 
and  Ruthven,  exasperated,  had  gone  straight  home,  to 
find  his  wife  in  tears,  and  the  boy  clumsily  attempting 
to  comfort  her,  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Ruthven  coldly,  "  you  have  some 
plausible  explanation  for  this  sort  of  thing.  If  you 
haven't,  you'd  better  trump  up  one  together,  and  I'll 
send  you  my  attorney  to  hear  it.  In  that  event,"  he 
added,  "  you'd  better  leave  your  joint  address  when  you 
find  a  more  convenient  house  than  mine." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  really  meant  nothing 
more  than  the  threat  and  the  insult,  the  situation  per 
mitting  him  a  heavier  hold  upon  his  wife  and  a  new  grip 
on  Gerald  in  case  he  ever  needed  him;  but  threat  and 
insult  were  very  real  to  the  boy,  and  he  knocked  Mr. 
Ruthven  flat  on  his  back — the  one  thing  required  to 
change  that  gentleman's  pretence  to  deadly  earnest. 

Ruthven  scrambled  to  his  feet ;  Gerald  did  it  again ; 
and,  after  that,  Mr.  Ruthven  prudently  remained  prone 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTS 


during  the  delivery  of  a  terse  but  concise  opinion  of  him 
expressed  by  Gerald. 

After  Gerald  had  gone,  Ruthven  opened  first  one 
eye,  then  the  other,  then  his  mouth,  and  finally  sat 
up ;  and  his  wife,  who  had  been  curiously  observing  him, 
smiled. 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  said  serenely,  "  that  I  never 
thought  of  that  method.  I  wonder  why  I  never  thought 
of  it,"  lazily  stretching  her  firm  young  arms  and  glan 
cing  casually  at  their  symmetry  and  smooth-skinned 
strength.  "  Go  into  your  own  quarters,"  she  added, 
as  he  rose,  shaking  with  fury :  "  I've  endured  the  last 
brutality  I  shall  ever  suffer  from  you." 

She  dropped  her  folded  hands  into  her  lap,  gazing 
coolly  at  him ;  but  there  was  a  glitter  in  her  eyes  which 
arrested  his  first  step  toward  her. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  you  mean  my  ruin.  Well, 
we  began  it  long  ago,  and  I  doubt  if  I  have  anything 
of  infamy  to  learn,  thanks  to  my  thorough  schooling 
as  your  wife.  .  .  .  But  knowledge  is  not  necessarily 
practice,  and  it  happens  that  I  have  not  cared  to  com 
mit  the  particular  indiscretion  so  fashionable  among  the 
friends  you  have  surrounded  me  with.  I  merely  mention 
this  for  your  information,  not  because  I  am  particularly 
proud  of  it.  It  is  not  anything  to  be  proud  of,  in  my 
case — it  merely  happened  so ;  a  matter,  perhaps  of  per 
sonal  taste,  perhaps  because  of  lack  of  opportunity; 
and  there  is  a  remote  possibility  that  belated  loyalty 
to  a  friend  I  once  betrayed  may  have  kept  me  person 
ally  chaste  in  this  rotting  circus  circle  you  have  driven 
me  around  in,  harnessed  to  your  vicious  caprice,  drag 
ging  the  weight  of  your  corruption " 

She  laughed.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  I  could  be  so 
eloquent,  Jack.  But  my  mind  has  become  curiously 

^395 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


clear  during  the  last  year — strangely  and  unusually 
limpid  and  precise.  Why,  my  poor  friend,  every  plot 
of  yours  and  of  your  friends — every  underhand  attempt 
to  discredit  and  injure  me  has  been  perfectly  apparent 
to  me.  You  supposed  that  my  headaches,  my  outbursts 
of  anger,  my  wretched  nights,  passed  in  tears — and  the 
long,  long  days  spent  kneeling  in  the  ashes  of  dead 
memories — all  these  you  supposed  had  weakened — per 
haps  unsettled — my  mind.  .  .  .  You  lie  if  you  deny  it, 
for  you  have  had  doctors  watching  me  for  months.  .  .  . 
You  didn't  know  I  was  aware  of  it,  did  you?  But  I 
was,  and  I  am.  .  .  .  And  you  told  them  that  my  father 
died  of — of  brain  trouble,  you  coward !  " 

Still  he  stood  there,  jaw  loose,  gazing  at  her  as 
though  fascinated;  and  she  smiled  and  settled  deeper 
in  her  chair,  framing  the  gilded  foliations  of  the  back 
with  her  beautiful  arms. 

"  We  might  as  well  understand  one  another  now," 
she  said  languidly.  "  If  you  mean  to  get  rid  of  me, 
there  is  no  use  in  attempting  to  couple  my  name  with 
that  of  any  man;  first,  because  it  is  untrue,  and  you 
not  only  know  it,  but  you  know  you  can't  prove  it. 
There  remains  the  cowardly  method  you  have  been  nerv 
ing  yourself  to  attempt,  never  dreaming  that  I  was 
aware  of  your  purpose." 

A  soft,  triumphant  little  laugh  escaped  her.  There 
was  something  almost  childish  in  her  delight  at  outwit 
ting  him,  and,  very  slowly,  into  his  worn  and  faded  eyes 
a  new  expression  began  to  dawn — the  flickering  stare 
of  suspicion.  And  in  it  the  purely  personal  impression 
of  rage  and  necessity  of  vengeance  subsided;  he  eyed 
her  intently,  curiously,  and  with  a  cool  persistence  which 
finally  began  to  irritate  her. 

"  What  a  credulous  fool  you  are,"  she  said,  "  to 
396 


LEX   NON   SCEIPTA 


build  your  hopes  of  a  separation  on  any  possible  mental 
disability  of  mine." 

He  stood  a  moment  without  answering,  then  quietly 
seated  himself.  The  suspicious  glimmer  in  his  faded 
eyes  had  become  the  concentration  of  a  curiosity  almost 
apprehensive. 

"Go  on,"  he  said;  "what  else?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

66  You  have  been  saying  several  things — about  doc 
tors  whom  I  have  set  to  watch  you — for  a  year  or  more." 

"  Do  you  deny  it?  "  she  retorted  angrily. 

"  No — no,  I  do  not  deny  anything.  But — who  are 
these  doctors — whom  you  have  noticed?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  they  are,"  she  replied  impa 
tiently.  "  I've  seen  them  often  enough — following  me 
on  the  street,  or  in  public  places — watching  me.  They 
are  everywhere — you  have  them  well  paid,  evidently;  I 
suppose  you  can  afford  it.  But  you  are  wasting  your 
time." 

"  You  think  so?  " 

"  Yes !  "  she  cried  in  a  sudden  violence  that  startled 
him,  "  you  are  wasting  your  time !  And  so  am  I — talk 
ing  to  you — enduring  your  personal  affronts  and  brutal 
sneers.  Sufficient  for  you  that  I  know  my  enemies,  and 
that  I  am  saner,  thank  God,  than  any  of  them !  "  She 
flashed  a  look  of  sudden  fury  at  him,  and  rose  from  her 
chair.  He  also  rose  with  a  promptness  that  bordered 
on  precipitation. 

"  For  the  remainder  of  the  spring  and  summer,"  she 
said,  "  I  shall  make  my  plans  regardless  of  you.  I  shall 
not  go  to  Newport ;  you  are  at  liberty  to  use  the  house 
there  as  you  choose.  And  as  for  this  incident  with  Ger 
ald,  you  had  better  not  pursue  it  any  further.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

397 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


He  nodded,  dropping  his  hands  into  his  coat-pockets. 

"  Now  you  may  go,"  she  said  coolly. 

He  went — not,  however,  to  his  room,  but  straight 
to  the  house  of  the  fashionable  physician  who  ministered 
to  wealth  with  an  unction  and  success  that  had  permitted 
him,  in  summer  time,  to  occupy  his  own  villa  at  Newport 
and  dispense  further  ministrations  when  requested. 

On  the  night  of  the  conjugal  conference  between 
Nina  Gerard  and  her  husband — and  almost  at  the  same 
hour — Jack  Ruthven,  hard  hit  in  the  card-room  of  the 
Stuyvesant  Club,  sat  huddled  over  the  table,  figuring 
up  what  sort  of  checks  he  was  to  draw  to  the  credit  of 
George  Fane  and  Sanxon  Orchil. 

Matters  had  been  going  steadily  against  him  for 
some  time — almost  everything,  in  fact,  except  the  opin 
ions  of  several  physicians  in  a  matter  concerning  his 
wife.  For,  in  that  scene  between  them  in  early  spring, 
his  wife  had  put  that  into  his  head  which  had  never  be 
fore  been  there — suspicion  of  her  mental  soundness. 

And  now,  as  he  sat  there,  pencil  in  hand,  adding  up 
the  score-cards,  he  remembered  that  he  was  to  interview 
his  attorney  that  evening  at  his  own  house — a  late  ap 
pointment,  but  necessary  to  insure  the  presence  of  one 
or  two  physicians  at  a  consultation  to  definitely  decide 
what  course  of  action  might  be  taken. 

He  had  not  laid  eyes  on  his  wife  that  summer,  but 
for  the  first  time  he  had  really  had  her  watched  during 
her  absence.  What  she  lived  on — how  she  managed — he 
had  not  the  least  idea,  and  less  concern.  All  he  knew 
was  that  he  had  contributed  nothing,  and  he  was  quite 
certain  that  her  balance  at  her  own  bank  had  been  non 
existent  for  months. 

But  any  possible  additional  grounds  for  putting  her 
398 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


away  from  him  that  might  arise  in  a  question  as  to  her 
sources  of  support  no  longer  interested  him.  That  line 
of  attack  was  unnecessary ;  besides,  he  had  no  suspicion 
concerning  her  personal  chastity.  But  Alixe,  that  even 
ing  in  early  spring,  had  unwittingly  suggested  to  him 
the  use  of  a  weapon  the  existence  of  which  he  had  never 
dreamed  of.  And  he  no  longer  entertained  any  doubts 
of  its  efficiency  as  a  means  of  finally  ridding  him  of  a 
wife  whom  he  had  never  been  able  to  fully  subdue  or 
wholly  corrupt,  and  who,  as  a  mate  for  him  in  his 
schemes  for  the  pecuniary  maintenance  of  his  household, 
had  proven  useless  and  almost  ruinous. 

He  had  not  seen  her  during  the  summer.  In  the 
autumn  he  had  heard  of  her  conduct  at  Hitherwood 
House.  And,  a  week  later,  to  his  astonishment,  he 
learned  of  her  serious  illness,  and  that  she  had  been 
taken  to  Clifton.  It  was  the  only  satisfactory  news 
he  had  had  of  her  in  months. 

So  now  he  sat  there  at  the  bridge-table  in  the  private 
card-room  of  the  Stuyvesant  Club,  deftly  adding  up 
the  score  that  had  gone  against  him,  but  consoled  some 
what  at  the  remembrance  of  his  appointment,  and  of 
the  probability  of  an  early  release  from  the  woman  who 
had  been  to  him  only  a  source  of  social  mistakes,  domes 
tic  unhappiness,  and  financial  disappointment. 

When  he  had  finished  his  figuring  he  fished  out  a 
check-book,  detached  a  tiny  gold  fountain-pen  from  the 
bunch  of  seals  and  knick-knacks  on  his  watch-chain,  and, 
filling  in  the  checks,  passed  them  over  without  comment. 

Fane  rose,  stretching  his  long  neck,  gazed  about 
through  his  spectacles,  like  a  benevolent  saurian,  and 
finally  fixed  his  mild,  protruding  eyes  upon  Orchil. 

"  There'll  be  a  small  game  at  the  Fountain  Club," 
he  said,  with  a  grin  which  creased  his  cheeks  until  his 

399 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


icing  his  name,  halted  him 


retreating  chin  almost  disappeared  under  the  thick  lower 

HP. 

Orchil  twiddled  his  long,  crinkly,  pointed  moustache 
and  glanced  interrogatively  at  Harmon  ;  then  he  yawned, 
stretched  his  arms,  and  rose,  pocketing  the  check,  which 
Ruthven  passed  to  him,  with  a  careless  nod  of  thanks. 

As  they  filed  out  of  the  card-room  into  the  dim  pas 
sageway,  Orchil  leading,  a  tall,  shadowy  figure  in  even 
ing  dress  stepped  back  from  the  door  of  the  card-room 
against  the  wall  to  give  th^m  right  of  way,  and  Orchil, 
peering  at  him  without  re&dmition  in  the  dull  light, 
bowed  suavely  as  he  passed,ras  did  Fane,  craning  his 
curved  neck,  and  Harmon  als».  who  followed  in  his  wake. 

But  when  Ruthven  came  abreast  of  the  figure  in  the 
passage  and  bowed  his  wa3^past,  a  low  voice  from  the 
courteous  unknown,  pron< 
short. 

"  I  want   a  wort 
Selwyn ;  "  that  card-r< 

But  Ruthven,  recovc 
voice,  started  to 

"  I  said 
Selwyn. 

Ruthven,  deigfeihg  iio  reply,  attempted  to  shove  by 
him;  and  Selwyn ,  pacing  one  hand  flat  against  the 
other's  shoulder,  pushed  him  violently  back  into  the  card- 
room  he  had  just  left,  and,  stepping  in  behind  him, 
closed  and  locked  the  door. 

"  W-what  the  devil  do  you  mean  !  "  gasped  Ruthven, 
his  hard,  minutely  shaven  face  turning  a  deep  red. 

"  What  I  say,"  replied  Selwyn,  "  that  I  want  a  word 
or  two  with  you." 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  in  the  centre  of  the 
little  room,  tall,  gaunt  of  feature,  and  very  pale.  The 

400 


in 


:ed 


Mr.  Ruthven,"  added 
suit  me,  if  you  please." 
from  the  shock  of  Selwyn's 
without  a  word, 
to  speak  to  you !  "  repeated 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


close,  smoky  atmosphere  of  the  place  evidently  annoyed 
him ;  he  glanced  about  at  the  scattered  cards,  the  empty 
oval  bottles  in  their  silver  stands,  the  half -burned  re 
mains  of  cigars  on  the  green-topped  table.  Then  he 
stepped  over  and  opened  the  only  window. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  turning  on  Ruthven ;  and  he 
seated  himself  and  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other.  Ruth 
ven  remained  standing. 

"  This — this  thing,"  began  Ruthven  in  a  voice  made 
husky  and  indistinct  through  fury,  "  this  ruffianly  be 
haviour  amounts  to  assault." 

"  As  you  choose,"  nodded  Selwyn,  almost  listlessly, 
"  but  be  quiet ;  I've  something  to  think  of  besides  your 
convenience." 

For  a  few  moments  he  sat  silent,  thoughtful,  narrow 
ing  eyes  considering  the  patterns  on  the  rug  at  his  feet ; 
and  Ruthven,  weak  with  rage  and  apprehension,  was 
forced  to  stand  there  awaiting  the  pleasure  of  a  man 
of  whom  he  had  suddenly  become  horribly  afraid. 

And  at  last  Selwyn,  emerging  from  his  pallid  rev 
erie,  straightened  out,  shaking  his  broad  shoulders  as 
though  to  free  him  of  that  black  spectre  perching  there. 

"  Ruthven,"  he  said,  "  a  few  years  ago  you  per 
suaded  my  wife  to  leave  me ;  and  I  have  never  punished 
you.  There  were  two  reasons  why  I  did  not:  the  first 
was  because  I  did  not  wish  to  punish  her,  and  any  blow 
at  you  would  have  reached  her  heavily.  The  second 
reason,  subordinate  to  the  first,  is  obvious :  decent  men, 
in  these  days,  have  tacitly  agreed  to  suspend  a  violent 
appeal  to  the  unwritten  law  as  a  concession  to  civilisa 
tion.  This  second  reason,  however,  depends  entirely 
upon  the  first,  as  you  see." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  thoughtfully,  and  re- 
crossed  his  legs. 

401 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


66 1  did  not  ask  you  into  this  room,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  smile,  "  to  complain  of  the  wrong  you  have  com 
mitted  against  me,  or  to  retail  to  you  the  consequences 
of  your  act  as  they  may  or  may  not  have  affected  me 
and  my  career ;  I  have — ah — invited  you  here  to  explain 
to  you  the  present  condition  of  your  own  domestic  af 
fairs  " — he  looked  at  Ruthven  full  in  the  face — "  to 
explain  them  to  you,  and  to  lay  down  for  you  the  course 
of  conduct  which  you  are  to  follow." 

"  By  God ! — "  began  Ruthven,  stepping  back,  one 
hand  reaching  for  the  door-knob;  but  Selwyn's  voice 
rang  out  clean  and  sharp: 

"  Sit  down !  " 

And,  as  Ruthven  glared  at  him  out  of  his  little  eyes : 

"  You'd  better  sit  down,  I  think,"  said  Selwyn  softly. 

Ruthven  turned,  took  two  unsteady  steps  forward, 
and  laid  his  heavily  ringed  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 
Selwyn  smiled,  and  Ruthven  sat  down. 

"  Now,"  continued  Selwyn,  "  for  certain  rules  of 
conduct  to  govern  you  during  the  remainder  of  your 
wife's  lifetime.  .  .  .  And  your  wife  is  ill,  Mr.  Ruthven 
— sick  of  a  sickness  which  may  last  for  a  great  many 
years,  or  may  be  terminated  in  as  many  days.  Did  you 
know  it?" 

Ruthven  snarled. 

"  Yes,  of  course  you  knew  it,  or  you  suspected  it. 
Your  wife  is  in  a  sanitarium,  as  you  have  discovered. 
She  is  mentally  ill — rational  at  times — violent  at  mo 
ments,  and  for  long  periods  quite  docile,  gentle,  harm 
less — content  to  be  talked  to,  read  to,  advised,  per 
suaded.  But  during  the  last  week  a  change  of  a  certain 
nature  has  occurred  which — which,  I  am  told  by  com 
petent  physicians,  not  only  renders  her  case  beyond  all 
hope  of  ultimate  recovery,  but  threatens  an  earlier  ter- 

402 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


mination  than  was  at  first  looked  for.  It  is  this:  your 
wife  has  become  like  a  child  again — occupied  contentedly 
and  quite  happily  with  childish  things.  She  has  for 
gotten  much;  her  memory  is  quite  gone.  How  much 
she  does  remember  it  is  impossible  to  say." 

His  head  fell ;  his  brooding  eyes  were  fixed  again  on 
the  rug  at  his  feet.  After  a  while  he  looked  up. 

"  It  is  pitiful,  Mr.  Ruthven — she  is  so  young — with 
all  her  physical  charm  and  attraction  quite  unimpaired. 
But  the  mind  is  gone — quite  gone,  sir.  Some  sudden 
strain — and  the  tension  has  been  great  for  years — some 
abrupt  overdraft  upon  her  mental  resource,  perhaps ; 
God  knows  how  it  came — from  sorrow,  from  some  un- 
kindness  too  long  endured " 

Again  he  relapsed  into  his  study  of  the  rug;  and 
slowly,  warily,  Ruthven  lifted  his  little,  inflamed  eyes 
to  look  at  him,  then  moistened  his  dry  lips  with  a 
thick-coated  tongue,  and  stole  a  glance  at  the  locked 
door. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Selwyn,  looking  up  suddenly, 
"  that  you  are  contemplating  proceedings  against  your 
wife.  Are  you?  " 

Ruthven  made  no  reply. 

"Are  you?"  repeated  Selwyn.  His  face  had  al 
tered  ;  a  dim  glimmer  played  in  his  eyes  like  the  reflec 
tion  of  heat  lightning  at  dusk. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Ruthven. 

"  On  the  grounds  of  her  mental  incapacity  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  as  I  understand  it,  the  woman  whom  you 
persuaded  to  break  every  law,  human  and  divine,  for 
your  sake,  you  now  propose  to  abandon.  Is  that  it?  " 

Ruthven  made  no  reply. 

"  You  propose  to  publish  her  pitiable  plight  to  the 
403 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


world  by  beginning  proceedings;  you  intend  to  notify 
the  public  of  your  wife's  infirmity  by  divorcing  her." 

"  Sane  or  insane,"  burst  out  Ruthven,  "  she  was 
riding  for  a  fall — and  she's  going  to  get  it !  What  the 
devil  are  you  talking  about?  I'm  not  accountable  to 
you.  I'll  do  what  I  please;  I'll  manage  my  own  af 
fairs » 

"  No,"  said  Selwyn,  "  I'll  manage  this  particular 
affair.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  how  I'm  going  to  do  it. 
I  have  in  my  lodgings — or  rather  in  the  small  hall  bed 
room  which  I  now  occupy — an  army  service  revolver,  in 
fairly  good  condition.  The  cylinder  was  a  little  stiff 
this  morning  when  I  looked  at  it,  but  I've  oiled  it  with 
No.  27 — an  excellent  rust  solvent  and  lubricant,  Mr. 
Ruthven — and  now  the  cylinder  spins  around  in  a  man 
ner  perfectly  trustworthy.  So,  as  I  was  saying,  I  have 
this  very  excellent  and  serviceable  weapon,  and  shall  give 
myself  the  pleasure  of  using  it  on  you  if  you  ever  com 
mence  any  such  action  for  divorce  or  separation  against 
your  wife.  This  is  final." 

Ruthven  stared  at  him  as  though  hypnotised. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,"  added  Selwyn,  a  trifle  wearily. 
"  I  am  not  compelling  you  to  decency  for  the  purpose 
of  punishing  you ;  men  never  trouble  themselves  to  pun 
ish  vermin — they  simply  exterminate  them,  or  they  re 
treat  and  avoid  them.  I  merely  mean  that  you  shall 
never  again  bring  publicity  and  shame  upon  your  wife 
— even  though  now,  mercifully  enough,  she  has  not  the 
faintest  idea  that  you  are  what  a  complacent  law  calls 
her  husband." 

A  slow  blaze  lighted  up  his  eyes,  and  he  got  up  from 
his  chair. 

"  You  decadent  little  beast ! "  he  said  slowly,  "  do 
you  suppose  that  the  dirty  accident  of  your  intrusion 

404 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


into  an  honest  man's  life  could  dissolve  the  divine  com 
pact  of  wedlock?  Soil  it — yes;  besmirch  it,  render  it 
superficially  unclean,  unfit,  nauseous — yes.  But  neither 
you  nor  your  vile  code  nor  the  imbecile  law  you  invoked 
to  legalise  the  situation  really  ever  deprived  me  of  my 
irrevocable  status  and  responsibility.  .  .  .  I — even  I — 
was  once — for  a  while — persuaded  that  it  did ;  that  the 
laws  of  the  land  could  do  this — could  free  me  from  a 
faithless  wife,  and  regularise  her  position  in  your  house 
hold.  The  laws  of  the  land  say  so,  and  I — I  said  so  at 
last — persuaded  because  I  desired  to  be  persuaded.  .  .  . 
It  was  a  lie.  My  wife,  shamed  or  unshamed,  humbled 
or  unhumbled,  true  to  her  marriage  vows  or  false  to 
them,  now  legally  the  wife  of  another,  has  never  ceased 
to  be  my  wife.  And  it  is  a  higher  law  that  corroborates 
me — higher  than  you  can  understand — a  law  unwritten 
because  axiomatic ;  a  law  governing  the  very  foundation 
of  the  social  fabric,  and  on  which  that  fabric  is  abso 
lutely  dependent  for  its  existence  intact.  But  " — with 
a  contemptuous  shrug — "  you  won't  understand ;  all  you 
can  understand  is  the  gratification  of  your  senses  and 
the  fear  of  something  interfering  with  that  gratification 
— like  death,  for  instance.  Therefore  I  am  satisfied 
that  you  understand  enough  of  what  I  said  to  discon 
tinue  any  legal  proceedings  which  would  tend  to  dis 
credit,  expose,  or  cast  odium  on  a  young  wife  very  sorely 
stricken — very,  very  ill — whom  God,  in  his  mercy,  has 
blinded  to  the  infamy  where  you  have  dragged  her — 
under  the  law  of  the  land." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  paced  the  little  room  once  or 
twice,  then  swung  round  again: 

"  Keep  your  filthy  money — wrung  from  women  and 
boys  over  card-tables.  Even  if  some  blind,  wormlike 
process  of  instinct  stirred  the  shame  in  vou,  and  you 

405 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


ventured  to  offer  belated  aid  to  the  woman  who  bears 
your  name,  I  forbid  it — I  do  not  permit  you  the  priv 
ilege.  Except  that  she  retains  your  name — and  the  mo 
ment  you  attempt  to  rob  her  of  that  I  shall  destroy 
you! — except  for  that,  you  have  no  further  relations 
with  her — nothing  to  do  or  undo;  no  voice  as  to  the 
disposal  of  what  remains  of  her ;  no  power,  no  will,  no 
influence  in  her  fate.  /  supplant  you ;  I  take  my  own 
again;  I  reassume  a  responsibility  temporarily  taken 
from  me.  And  now,  I  think,  you  understand !  " 

He  gave  him  one  level  and  deadly  stare;  then  his 
pallid  features  relaxed,  he  slowly  walked  past  Ruthven, 
grave,  preoccupied ;  unlocked  the  door,  and  passed  out. 

His  lodgings  were  not  imposing  in  their  furnishings 
or  dimensions — a  very  small  bedroom  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  Sixth  Avenue  and  Washington  Square — but  the 
heavy  and  increasing  drain  on  his  resources  permitted 
nothing  better  now;  and  what  with  settling  Gerald's 
complications  and  providing  two  nurses  and  a  private 
suite  at  Clifton  for  Alixe  Ruthven,  he  had  been  obliged 
to  sell  a  number  of  securities,  which  reduced  his  income 
to  a  figure  too  absurd  to  worry  over. 

However,  the  Government  had  at  last  signified  its 
intention  of  testing  his  invention — Chaosite — and  there 
was  that  chance  for  better  things  in  prospect.  Also,  in 
time,  Gerald  would  probably  be  able  to  return  something 
of  the  loans  made.  But  these  things  did  not  alleviate 
present  stringent  conditions,  nor  were  they  likely  to  for 
a  long  while ;  and  Selwyn,  tired  and  perplexed,  mounted 
the  stairs  of  his  lodging-house  and  laid  his  overcoat  on 
the  iron  bed,  and,  divesting  himself  of  the  garments  of 
ceremony  as  a  matter  of  economy,  pulled  on  an  old  tweed 
shooting- jacket  and  trousers. 

406 


LEX   XOy   SCRIPTA 


Then,  lighting  his  pipe — cigars  being  now  on  the 
expensive  and  forbidden  list — he  drew  a  chair  to  his 
table  and  sat  down,  resting  his  worn  face  between  both 
hands.  Truly  the  world  was  not  going  very  well  with 
him  in  these  days. 

For  some  time,  now,  it  had  been  his  custom  to  face 
his  difficulties  here  in  the  silence  of  his  little  bedroom, 
seated  alone  at  his  table,  pipe  gripped  between  his  firm 
teeth,  his  strong  hands  framing  his  face.  Here  he  would 
sit  for  hours,  the  long  day  ended,  staring  steadily  at  the 
blank  wall,  the  gas-jet  flickering  overhead;  and  here, 
slowly,  painfully,  with  doubt  and  hesitation,  out  of  the 
moral  confusion  in  his  weary  mind  he  evolved  the  theory 
of  personal  responsibility. 

With  narrowing  eyes,  from  which  slowly  doubt 
faded,  he  gazed  at  duty  with  all  the  calm  courage  of 
his  race,  not  at  first  recognising  it  as  duty  in  its  new 
and  dreadful  guise. 

But  night  after  night,  patiently  perplexed,  he  re 
traced  his  errant  pathway  through  life,  back  to  the 
source  of  doubt  and  pain ;  and,  once  arrived  there,  he 
remained,  gazing  with  impartial  eyes  upon  the  ruin  two 
young  souls  had  wrought  of  their  twin  li ves ;  and  al 
ways,  always  somehow,  confronting  him  among  the  de 
bris,  rose  the  spectre  of  their  deathless  responsibility 
to  one  another ;  and  the  inexorable  life-sentence  sounded 
ceaselessly  in  his  ears :  "  For  better  or  for  worse — for 
better  or  for  worse — till  death  do  us  part — till  death — 
till  death !  " 

Dreadful  his  duty — for  man  already  had  dared  to 
sunder  them,  and  he  had  acquiesced  to  save  hep  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world !  Dreadful,  indeed — because  he  knew 
that  he  had  never  loved  her,  never  could  love  her! 
Dreadful — doubly  dreadful — for  he  now  knew  what 
27  407 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


love  might  be ;  and  it  was  not  what  he  had  believed  it 
when  he  executed  the  contract  which  must  bind  him 
while  life  endured. 

Once,  and  not  long  since,  he  thought  that,  freed  from 
the  sad  disgrace  of  the  shadowy  past,  he  had  begun  l^fe 
anew.  They  told  him — and  he  told  himself — that  a  man 
had  that  right ;  that  a  man  was  no  man  who  stood 
stunned  and  hopeless,  confronting  the  future  in  fetters 
of  conscience.  And  by  that  token  he  had  accepted  the 
argument  as  truth — because  he  desired  to  believe  it — 
and  he  had  risen  erect  and  shaken  himself  free  of  the 
past — as  he  supposed;  as  though  the  past,  which  be 
comes  part  of  us,  can  be  shaken  from  tired  shoulders 
with  the  first  shudder  of  revolt! 

No;  he  understood  now  that  the  past  was  part  of 
him — as  his  limbs  and  head  and  body  and  mind  were 
part  of  him.  It  had  to  be  reckoned  with — what  he  had 
done  to  himself,  to  the  young  girl  united  to  him  in 
bonds  indissoluble  except  in  death. 

That  she  had  strayed — under  man-made  laws  held 
guiltless — could  not  shatter  the  tie.  That  he,  blinded 
by  hope,  had  hoped  to  remake  a  life  already  made,  and 
had  dared  to  masquerade  before  his  own  soul  as  a  man 
free  to  come,  to  go,  and  free  to  love,  could  not  alter 
what  had  been  done.  Back,  far  back  of  it  all  lay  the 
deathless  pact — for  better  or  for  worse.  And  nothing 
man  might  wish  or  say  or  do  could  change  it.  Always, 
always  he  must  remain  bound  by  that,  no  matter  what 
others  did  or  thought ;  always,  always  he  was  under  obli 
gations  to  the  end. 

And  now,  alone,  abandoned,  helplessly  sick,  utterly 
dependent  upon  the  decency,  the  charity,  the  mercy  of 
her  legal  paramour,  the  young  girl  who  had  once  been 
his  wife  had  not  turned  to  him  in  vain. 

408 


LEX   NON   SCEIPTA 


Before  the  light  of  her  shaken  mind  had  gone  out 
she  had  written  him,  incoherently,  practically  in  ex 
tremis-,  and  if  he  had  hitherto  doubted  where  his  duty 
lay,  from  that  moment  he  had  no  longer  any  doubt. 
And  very  quietly,  hopelessly,  and  irrevocably  he  had 
crushed  out  of  his  soul  the  hope  and  promise  of  the  new 
life  dawning  for  him  above  the  dead  ashes  of  the  past. 

It  was  not  easy  to  do ;  he  had  not  ended  it  yet.  He 
did  not  know  how.  There  were  ties  to  be  severed,  friend 
ships  to  be  gently  broken,  old  scenes  to  be  forgotten, 
memories  to  kill.  There  was  also  love — to  be  disposed 
of.  And  he  did  not  know  how. 

First  of  all,  paramount  in  his  hopeless  trouble,  the 
desire  to  save  others  from  pain  persisted. 

For  that  reason  he  had  been  careful  that  Gerald 
should  not  know  where  and  how  he  was  now  obliged  to 
live — lest  the  boy  suspect  and  understand  how  much  of 
Selwyn's  little  fortune  it  had  taken  to  settle  his  debts 
of  "  honour  "  and  free  him  from  the  sinister  pressure 
of  Xeergard's  importunities. 

For  that  reason,  too,  he  dreaded  to  have  Austin  know, 
because,  if  the  truth  were  exposed,  nothing  in  the  world 
could  prevent  a  violent  and  final  separation  between  him 
and  the  foolish  boy  who  now,  at  last,  was  beginning  to 
show  the  first  glimmering  traces  of  character  and  com 
mon  sense. 

So  he  let  it  be  understood  that  his  address  was  his 
club  for  the  present ;  for  he  also  desired  no  scene  with 
Boots,  whom  he  knew  would  attempt  to  force  him  to 
live  with  him  in  his  cherished  and  brand-new  house. 
And  even  if  he  cared  to  accept  and  permit  Boots  to  place 
him  under  such  obligations,  it  would  onlv  hamper  him 
in  his  duties. 

409 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Because  now,  what  remained  of  his  income  must  be 
devoted  to  Alixe. 

Even  before  her  case  had  taken  the  more  hopeless 
turn,  he  had  understood  that  she  could  not  remain  at 
Clifton.  Such  cases  were  neither  desired  nor  treated 
there ;  he  understood  that.  And  so  he  had  taken,  for  her, 
a  pretty  little  villa  at  Edgewater,  with  two  trained 
nurses  to  care  for  her,  and  a  phaeton  for  her  to  drive. 

And  now  she  was  installed  there,  properly  cared  for, 
surrounded  by  every  comfort,  contented — except  in  the 
black  and  violent  crises  which  still  swept  her  in  recurrent 
storms — indeed,  tranquil  and  happy;  for  through  the 
troubled  glimmer  of  departing  reason,  her  eyes  were  al 
ready  opening  in  the  calm,  unearthly  dawn  of  second 
childhood. 

Pain,  sadness,  the  desolate  awakening  to  dishonour 
had  been  forgotten ;  to  her,  the  dead  now  lived ;  to  her, 
the  living  who  had  been  children  with  her  were  children 
again,  and  she  a  child  among  them.  Outside  of  that 
dead  garden  of  the  past,  peopled  by  laughing  phantoms 
of  her  youth,  but  one  single  extraneous  memory  per 
sisted — the  memory  of  Selwyn — curiously  twisted  and 
readjusted  to  the  comprehension  of  a  child's  mind — 
vague  at  times,  at  times  wistfully  elusive  and  incoher 
ent — but  it  remained  always  a  memory,  and  always  a 
happy  one. 

He  was  obliged  to  go  to  her  every  three  or  four 
days.  In  the  interim  she  seemed  quite  satisfied  and 
happy,  busy  with  the  simple  and  pretty  things  she  now 
cared  for ;  but  toward  the  third  day  of  his  absence  she 
usually  became  restless,  asking  for  him,  and  why  he  did 
not  come.  And  then  they  telegraphed  him,  and  he  left 
everything  and  went,  white-faced,  stern  of  lip,  to  endure 
the  most  dreadful  ordeal  a  man  may  face — to  force  the 

410 


LEX   XO.V   SCEIPTA 


smile  to  his  lips  and  gaiety  into  the  shrinking  soul  of 
him,  and  sit  with  her  in  the  pretty,  sunny  room,  listening 
to  her  prattle,  answering  the  childish  questions,  watch 
ing  her,  seated  in  her  rocking-chair,  singing  contentedly 
to  herself,  and  playing  with  her  dolls  and  ribbons — 
dressing  them,  undressing,  mending,  arranging — until 
the  heart  within  him  quivered  under  the  misery  of  it, 
and  he  turned  to  the  curtained  window,  hands  clinching 
convulsively,  and  teeth  set  to  force  back  the  strangling 
agony  in  his  throat. 

And  the  dreadful  part  of  it  all  was  that  her  appear 
ance  had  remained  unchanged — unless,  perhaps,  she  was 
prettier,  lovelier  of  face  and  figure  than  ever  before; 
but  in  her  beautiful  dark  eyes  only  the  direct  intelligence 
of  a  child  answered  his  gaze  of  inquiry ;  and  her  voice, 
too,  had  become  soft  and  hesitating,  and  the  infantile 
falsetto  sounded  in  it  at  times,  sweet,  futile,  immature. 

Thinking  of  these  things  now,  he  leaned  heavily  for 
ward,  elbows  on  the  little  table.  And,  suddenly  unbid 
den,  before  his  haunted  eyes  rose  the  white  portico  of 
Silverside,  and  the  greensward  glimmered,  drenched  in 
sunshine,  and  a  slim  figure  in  white  stood  there,  arms 
bare,  tennis-bat  swinging  in  one  tanned  little  hand. 

Voices  were  sounding  in  his  ears — Drina's  laughter, 
Lansing's  protest ;  Billy  shouting  to  his  eager  pack ;  his 
sister's  calm  tones,  admonishing  the  young — and 
through  it  all,  her  voice,  clear,  hauntingly  sweet,  pro 
nouncing  his  name. 

And  he  set  his  lean  jaws  tight  and  took  a  new  grip 
on  his  pipe-stem,  and  stared,  with  pain-dulled  eyes,  at 
the  white  wall  opposite. 

But  on  the  blank  expanse  the  faintest  tinge  of  colour 
appeared,  growing  clearer,  taking  shape  as  he  stared ; 

411 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


and  slowly,  slowly,  under  the  soft  splendour  of  her  hair, 
two  clear  eyes  of  darkest  blue  opened  under  the  languid 
lids  and  looked  at  him,  and  looked  and  looked  until  he 
closed  his  own,  unable  to  endure  the  agony. 

But  even  through  his  sealed  lids  he  saw  her ;  and  her 
clear  gaze  pierced  him,  blinded  as  he  was,  leaning  there, 
both  hands  pressed  across  his  eyes. 

Sooner  or  later — sooner  or  later  he  must  write  to 
her  and  tell  what  must  be  told.  How  to  do  it,  when  to 
do  it,  he  did  not  know.  What  to  say  he  did  not  know ; 
but  that  there  was  something  due  her  from  him — some 
thing  to  say,  something  to  confess — to  ask  her  pardon 
for — he  understood. 

Happily  for  her — happily  for  him,  alas ! — love,  in 
its  full  miracle,  had  remained  beyond  her  comprehen 
sion.  That  she  cared  for  him  with  all  her  young  heart 
he  knew;  that  she  had  not  come  to  love  him  he  knew, 
too.  So  that  crowning  misery  of  happiness  was 
spared  him. 

Yet  he  knew,  too,  that  there  had  been  a  chance  for 
him ;  that  her  awakening  had  not  been  wholly  impossible. 
Loyal  in  his  soul  to  the  dread  duty  before  him,  he  must 
abandon  hope ;  loyal  in  his  heart  to  her,  he  must  abandon 
her,  lest,  by  chance,  in  the  calm,  still  happiness  of  their 
intimacy  the  divine  moment,  unheralded,  flash  out 
through  the  veil,  dazzling,  blinding  them  with  the 
splendour  of  its  truth  and  beauty. 

And  now,  leaning  there,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
hours  that  he  spent  with  her  came  crowding  back  upon 
him,  and  in  his  ears  her  voice  echoed  and  echoed,  and 
his  hands  trembled  with  the  scented  memory  of  her  touch, 
and  his  soul  quivered  and  cried  out  for  her. 

Storm  after  storm  swept  him;  and  in  the  tempest 
he  abandoned  reason,  blinded,  stunned,  crouching  there 


LEX   NON   SCRIPTA 


with  head  lowered  and  his   clenched  hands  across  his 
face. 

But  storms,  given  right  of  way,  pass  on  and  over, 
and  tempests  sweep  hearts  cleaner;  and  after  a  long 
while  he  lifted  his  bowed  head  and  sat  up,  squaring  his 
shoulders. 

Presently  he  picked  up  his  pipe  again,  held  it  a 
moment,  then  laid  it  aside.  Then  he  leaned  forward, 
breathing  deeply  but  quietly,  and  picked  up  a  pen  and 
a  sheet  of  paper.  For  the  time  had  come  for  his  letter 
to  her,  and  he  was  ready. 

The  letter  he  wrote  was  one  of  those  gay,  cheerful, 
inconsequential  letters  which,  from  the  very  beginning 
of  their  occasional  correspondence,  had  always  been  to 
her  most  welcome  and  delightful. 

Ignoring  that  maturity  in  her  with  which  he  had 
lately  dared  to  reckon,  he  reverted  to  the  tone  which 
he  had  taken  and  maintained  with  her  before  the  sweet 
ness  and  seriousness  of  their  relations  had  deepened  to 
an  intimacy  which  had  committed  him  to  an  avowal. 

News  of  all  sorts  humorously  retailed — an  amusing 
sketch  of  his  recent  journey  to  Washington  and  its 
doubtful  results — matters  that  they  both  were  interested 
in,  details  known  only  to  them,  a  little  harmless  gossip — 
these  things  formed  the  body  of  his  letter.  There  was 
never  a  hint  of  sorrow  or  discouragement — nothing  to 
intimate  that  life  had  so  utterly  and  absolutely  changed 
for  him — only  a  jolly,  friendly  badinage — an  easy, 
light-hearted  narrative,  ending  in  messages  to  all  and 
a  frank  regret  that  the  pursuit  of  business  and  happi 
ness  appeared  incompatible  at  the  present  moment. 

His  address,  he  wrote,  was  his  club ;  he  sent  her,  he 
said,  under  separate  cover,  a  rather  interesting  pam 
phlet — a  monograph  on  the  symbolism  displayed  by  the 

413 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


designs  in  Samarcand  rugs  and  textiles  of  the  Ming  dyn 
asty.    And  he  ended,  closing  with  a  gentle  jest  concern 
ing  blue-stockings  and  rebellious  locks  of  ruddy  hair. 
And  signed  his  name. 

Nina  and  Eileen,  in  travelling  gowns  and  veils,  stood 
on  the  porch  at  Silverside,  waiting  for  the  depot  wagon, 
when  Selwyn's  letter  was  handed  to  Eileen. 

The  girl  flushed  up,  then,  avoiding  Nina's  eyes, 
turned  and  entered  the  house.  Once  out  of  sight,  she 
swiftly  mounted  to  her  own  room  and  dropped,  breath 
less,  on  the  bed,  tearing  the  envelope  from  end  to  end. 
And  from  end  to  end,  and  back  again  and  over  again, 
she  read  the  letter — at  first  in  expectancy,  lips  parted, 
colour  brilliant,  then  with  the  smile  still  curving  her 
cheeks — but  less  genuine  now — almost  mechanical — un 
til  the  smile  stamped  on  her  stiffening  lips  faded,  and 
the  soft  contours  relaxed,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes,  staring 
into  space  with  a  wistful,  questioning  lift  of  the  pure 
brows. 

What  more  had  she  expected?  What  more  had  she 
desired?  Nothing,  surely,  of  that  emotion  which  she 
declined  to  recognise ;  surely  not  that  sentiment  of  which 
she  had  admitted  her  ignorance  to  him.  Again  her  eyes 
sought  the  pages,  following  the  inked  writing  from  end 
to  end.  What  was  she  seeking  there  that  he  had  left 
unwritten  ?  What  was  she  searching  for,  of  which  there 
was  not  one  hint  in  all  these  pages? 

And  now  Nina  was  calling  her  from  the  hall  below; 
and  she  answered  gaily  and,  hiding  the  letter  in  her  long 
glove,  came  down  the  stairs. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  letter  in  the  train,"  she 
said ;  "  he  is  perfectly  well,  and  evidently  quite  happy ; 

and  Nina " 

414 


LEX   NON   SCEIPTA 


"What,  dear?" 

" 1  want  to  send  him  a  telegram.    May  I  ?  " 

"  A  dozen,  if  you  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Gerard,  "  only, 
if  you  don't  climb  into  that  vehicle,  we'll  miss  the  train." 

So  on  the  way  to  Wyossette  station  Eileen  sat  very 
still,  gloved  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  composing  her  tele 
gram  to  Selwyn.  And,  once  in  the  station,  having  it 
by  heart  already,  she  wrote  it  rapidly: 

"  Nina  and  I  are  on  our  way  to  the  Berkshires  for 
a  week.  House-party  at  the  Craigs'.  We  stay  over 
night  in  town.  E.  E." 


But  the  telegram  went  to  his  club,  and  waited  for 
him  there;  and  meanwhile  another  telegram  arrived  at 
his  lodgings,  signed  by  a  trained  nurse ;  and  while  Miss 
Erroll,  in  the  big,  dismantled  house,  lay  in  a  holland- 
covered  armchair,  waiting  for  him,  while  Nina  and 
Austin,  reading  their  evening  papers,  exchanged  sig 
nificant  glances  from  time  to  time,  the  man  she  awaited 
sat  in  the  living-room  in  a  little  villa  at  Edgewater. 
And  a  slim  young  nurse  stood  beside  him,  cool  and 
composed  in  her  immaculate  uniform,  watching  the  play 
of  light  and  shadow  on  a  woman  who  lay  asleep  on  the 
couch,  fresh,  young  face  flushed  and  upturned,  a  child's 
doll  cradled  between  arm  and  breast. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  asleep  ?  "  asked  Selwyn  un 
der  his  breath. 

"  An  hour.  She  fretted  a  good  deal  because  you 
had  not  come.  This  afternoon  she  said  she  wished  to 
drive,  and  I  had  the  phaeton  brought  around ;  but  when 
she  saw  it  she  changed  her  mind.  I  was  rather  afraid 
of  an  outburst — they  come  sometimes  from  less  cause 
than  that — so  I  did  not  urge  her  to  go  out.  She  played 

415 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


on  the  piano  for  a  long  while,  and  sang  some  songs — 
those  curious  native  songs  she  learned  in  Manila.  It 
seemed  to  soothe  her;  she  played  with  her  little  trifles 
quite  contentedly  for  a  time,  but  soon  began  fretting 
again,  and  asking  why  you  had  not  come.  She  had  a 
bad  hour  later — she  is  quite  exhausted  now.  Could  you 
stay  to-night,  Captain  Selwyn  ?  " 

"  Y-es,  if  you  think  it  better.  .  .  .  Wait  a  moment ; 
I  think  she  has  awakened." 

Alixe  had  turned  her  head,  her  lovely  eyes  wide 
open. 

"  Phil !  "  she  cried,  "  is  it  you?  " 

He  went  forward  and  took  the  uplifted  hands,  smil 
ing  down  at  her. 

"  Such  a  horrid  dream !  "  she  said  pettishly,  "  about 
a  soft,  plump  man  with  ever  so  many  rings  on  his  hands. 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  came.  ...  Look  at  this  child 
of  mine !  "  cuddling  the  staring  wax  doll  closer ;  "  she's 
not  undressed  yet,  and  it's  long,  long  after  bedtime. 
Hand  me  her  night-clothes,  Phil." 

The  slim  young  nurse  bent  and  disentangled  a  bit 
of  lace  and  cambric  from  a  heap  on  the  floor,  offering 
it  to  Selwyn.  He  laid  it  in  the  hand  Alixe  held  out,  and 
she  began  to  undress  the  doll  in  her  arms,  prattling 
softly  all  the  while: 

"  Late — oh,  so  very,  very  late !  I  must  be  more 
careful  of  her,  Phil;  because,  if  you  and  I  grow  up, 
some  day  we  may  marry,  and  we  ought  to  know  all 
about  children.  It  would  be  great  fun,  wouldn't  it?  " 

He  nodded,  forcing  a  smile. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Yes — yes,  indeed,"  he  said  gently. 

She  laughed,  contented  with  his  answer,  and  laid  her 
lips  against  the  painted  face  of  the  doll. 

416 


LEX   NON   SCEIPTA 


"  When  we  grow  up,  years  from  now — then  we'll  un 
derstand,  won't  we,  Phil?  ...  I  am  tired  with  playing. 
.  .  .  And  Phil — let  me  whisper  something.  Is  that 
person  gone?  " 

He  turned  and  signed  to  the  nurse,  who  quietly  with 
drew. 

"  Is  she  gone?  "  repeated  Alixe. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  listen,  Phil.  Do  you  know  what  she  and  the 
other  one  are  about  all  day  ?  /  know ;  I  pretend  not  to, 
but  I  know.  They  are  watching  me  every  moment — 
always  watching  me,  because  they  want  to  make  you 
believe  that  I  am  forgetting  you.  But  I  am  not.  That 
is  why  I  made  them  send  for  you  so  I  could  tell  you 
myself  that  I  could  never,  never  forget  you.  ...  I 
think  of  you  always  while  I  am  playing — always — al 
ways  I  am  thinking  of  you.  You  will  believe  it,  won't 
you?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

Contented,  she  turned  to  her  doll  again,  undressing 
it  deftly,  tenderly. 

"  At  moments,"  she  said,  "  I  have  an  odd  idea  that 
it  is  real.  I  am  not  quite  sure  even  now.  Do  you  be 
lieve  it  is  alive,  Phil?  Perhaps,  at  night,  when  I  am 
asleep,  it  becomes  alive.  .  .  .  This  morning  I  awoke, 
laughing,  laughing  in  delight — thinking  I  heard  you 
laughing,  too — as  once — in  the  dusk  where  there  were 
many  roses  and  many  stars — big  stars,  and  very,  very 
bright — I  saw  you — saw  you — and  the  roses " 

She  paused  with  a  pained,  puzzled  look  of  appeal. 

"Where  was  it,  Phil?" 

"  In  Manila  town." 

"  Yes ;  and  there  were  roses.  But  I  was  never 
there." 

417 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  You  came  out  on  the  veranda  and  pelted  me  with 
roses.  There  were  others  there — officers  and  their  wives. 
Everybody  was  laughing." 

"  Yes— but  I  was  not  there,  Phil.  .  .  .  Who— who 
was  the  tall,  thin  bugler  who  sounded  taps  ?  " 

"  Corrigan." 

"  And — the  little,  girl-shaped,  brown  men  ?  " 

"  My  constabulary." 

"  I  can't  recollect,"  she  said  listlessly,  laying  the  doll 
against  her  breast.  "  I  think,  Phil,  that  you  had  better 
be  a  little  quiet  now — she  may  wish  to  sleep.  .And  I 
am  sleepy,  too,"  lifting  her  slender  hand  as  a  sign  for 
him  to  take  his  leave. 

As  he  went  out  the  nurse  said :  "  If  you  wish  to 
return  to  town,  you  may,  I  think.  She  will  forget  about 
you  for  two  or  three  days,  as  usual.  Shall  I  telegraph 
if  she  becomes  restless?  " 

"  Yes.    What  does  the  doctor  say  to-day  ?  " 

The  slim  nurse  looked  at  him  under  level  brows. 

"  There  is  no  change,"  she  said. 

"  No  hope."     It  was  not  even  a  question. 

"  No  hope,  Captain  Selwyn." 

He  stood  silent,  tapping  his  leg  with  the  stiff  brim 
of  his  hat ;  then,  wearily :  "  Is  there  anything  more  I 
can  do  for  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"  Thank  you." 

He  turned  away,  bidding  her  good-night  in  a  low 
voice. 

He  arrived  in  town  about  midnight,  but  did  not  go 
to  any  of  his  clubs.  At  one  of  them  a  telegram  was 
awaiting  him ;  and  in  a  dismantled  and  summer-shrouded 
house  a  young  girl  was  still  expecting  him,  lying  with 

418 


LEX   NON  SCB1PTA 


closed  eyes  in  a  big  Holland-covered  arm-chair,  listen 
ing  to  the  rare  footfalls  in  the  street  outside. 

But  of  these  things  he  knew  nothing ;  and  he  went 
wearily  to  his  lodgings  and  climbed  the  musty  stairs,  and 
sat  down  in  his  old  attitude  before  the  table  and  the 
blank  wall  behind  it,  waiting  for  the  magic  frescoes  to 
appear  in  all  the  vague  loveliness  of  their  hues  and  dyes, 
painting  for  him  upon  his  chamber-walls  the  tinted  para 
dise  now  lost  to  him  for  ever. 


419 


CHAPTER    XI 

HIS    OWN    WAY 

THE  winter  promised  to  be  a  busy  one  for  Selwyn. 
If  at  first  he  had  had  any  dread  of  enforced  idleness, 
that  worry,  at  least,  vanished  before  the  first  snow  flew. 
For  there  came  to  him  a  se^srej^  communication  from  the 
Government  suggesting,  amdmg  other  things,  that  he 
report,  three  times  a  week,^t  the  proving  grounds  on 
Sandy  Hook ;  that  experiments  with  Chaosite  as  a  burst 
ing  charge  might  begin  a»soon  as  he  was  ready  with 
his  argon  primer;  that  officers  connected  with  the  bu 
reau  of  ordnance  ancL^he^aJdiie  laboratory  had  recom 
mended  the  advisabHfryXpf  certain  preliminary  tests, 
and  that  the  general  stpff  seemed  inclined  to  consider 
the  matter  seriously. 

This  meantN^ork^Ahard,  constant,  patient  work. 
But  it  did  not  m^|tor\money  to  help  him  support  the 
heavy  burdens  he  haJ^ssumed.  If  there  were  to  be  any 
returns,  all  thaKgart  of  it  lay  in  the  future,  and  the 
future  could  not  help  him  now. 

Yet,  unless  still  heavier  burdens  were  laid  upon  him, 
he  could  hold  on  for  the  present ;  his  bedroom  cost  him 
next  to  nothing ;  breakfast  he  cooked  for  himself,  lunch 
eon  he  dispensed  with,  and  he  dined  at  random — any 
where  that  appeared  to  promise  seclusion,  cheapness, 
and  immunity  from  anybody  he  had  ever  known. 

420 


HIS   OWN   WAT 


A  minute  and  rather  finicky  care  of  his  wardrobe 
had  been  second  nature  to  him — the  habits  of  a  soldier 
systematised  the  routine — and  he  was  satisfied  that  his 
clothes  would  outlast  winter  demands,  although  laundry 
expenses  appalled  him. 

As  for  his  clubs,  he  hung  on  to  them,  knowing  the 
importance  of  appearances  in  a  town  which  is  made  up 
of  them.  But  this  expense  was  all  he  could  carry,  for 
the  demands  of  the  establishment  at  Edgewater  were 
steadily  increasing  with  the  early  coming  of  winter;  he 
was  sent  for  oftener,  and  a  physician  was  now  in  prac 
tically  continual  attendance. 

Also,  three  times  a  week  he  boarded  the  Sandy  Hook 
boat,  returning  always  at  night  because  he  dared  not 
remain  at  the  reservation  lest  an  imperative  telegram 
from  Edgewater  find  him  unable  to  respond. 

So,  when  in  November  the  first  few  hurrying  snow- 
flakes  whirled  in  among  the^cjty's  canons  of  masonry 
and  iron,  Selwyn  had  already  systematised  his  winter 
schedule;  and  when  Nina  opened  her  house,  returning 
from  Lenox  with  Eileen  to  do  so,  she  found  that  Selwyn 
had  made  his  own  arrangements  for  the  winter,  and 
that,  according  to  the  programme,  neither  she  nor  any 
body  else  was  likely  to  see  him  oftener  than  one  evening 
in  a  week. 

To  Boots  she  complained  bitterly,  having  had  visions 
of  Selwyn  and  Gerald  as  permanent  fixtures  of  family 
support  during  the  season  now  imminent. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  she  said,  "  why  Philip  is 
acting  this  way.  He  need  not  work  like  that;  there  is 
no  necessity,  because  he  has  a  comfortable  income.  If 
he  is  determined  to  maintain  a  stuffy  apartment  some 
where,  of  course  I  won't  insist  on  his  coming  to  us  as 
he  ought  to,  but  to  abandon  us  in  this  manner  makes  me 

421 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


almost  indignant.     Besides,  it's  having  anything  but  a 
salutary  effect  on  Eileen." 

"What  effect  is  it  having  on  Eileen?"  inquired 
Boots  curiously. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Nina,  coming  perilously 
close  to  a  pout ;  "  but  I  see  symptoms — indeed  I  do, 
Boots ! — symptoms  of  shirking  the  winter's  routine.  It's 
to  be  a  gay  season,  too,  and  it's  only  her  second.  The 
idea  of  a  child  of  that  age  informing  me  that  she's  had 
enough  of  the  purely  social  phases  of  this  planet !  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  like  it?  One  season,  if  you 
please — and  she  finds  it  futile,  stale,  and  unprofitable 
to  fulfil  the  duties  expected  of  her ! " 

Boots  began  to  laugh,  but  it  was  no  laughing  mat 
ter  to  Nina,  and  she  said  so  vigorously. 

"  It's  Philip's  fault.  If  he'd  stand  by  us  this  winter 
she'd  go  anywhere — and  enjoy  it,  too.  Besides,  he's  the 
only  man  able  to  satisfy  the  blue-stocking  in  her  be 
tween  dances.  But  he's  got  this  obstinate  mania  for 
seclusion,  and  he  seldom  comes  near  us,  and  it's  driving 
Eileen  into  herself,  Boots — and  every  day  I  catch  her 
hair  slumping  over  her  ears — and  once  I  discovered  a 
lead-pencil  behind  'em ! — and  a  monograph  on  the  Ming 
dynasty  in  her  lap,  all  marked  up  with  notes !  Oh, 
Boots  !  Boots !  I've  given  up  all  hopes  of  that  brother 
of  mine  for  her — but  she  could  marry  anybody,  if  she 
chose — anybody  \ — and  she  could  twist  the  entire  social 
circus  into  a  court  of  her  own  and  dominate  everything. 
Everybody  knows  it ;  everybody  says  it !  ...  And  look 
at  her ! — indifferent,  listless,  scarcely  civil  any  longer 
to  her  own  sort,  but  galvanised  into  animation  the 
moment  some  impossible  professor  or  artist  or  hairy 
scientist  flutters  batlike  into  a  drawing-room  where  he 
doesn't  belong  unless  he's  hired  to  be  amusing!  And 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


that  sounds  horridly  snobbish,  I  know ;  I  am  a  snob 
about  Eileen,  but  not  about  myself  because  it  doesn't 
harm  me  to  make  round  wonder-eyes  at  a  Herr  Pro 
fessor  or  gaze  intensely  into  the  eyes  of  an  artist  when 
he's  ornamental;  it  doesn't  make  my  hair  come  down 
over  my  ears  to  do  that  sort  of  thing,  and  it  doesn't 
corrupt  me  into  slinking  off  to  museum  lectures  or 
spending  mornings  prowling  about  the  Society  Library 
or  the  Chinese  jades  in  the  Metropolitan " 

Boots's  continuous  and  unfeigned  laughter  checked 
the  pretty,  excited  little  matron,  and  after  a  moment 
she  laughed,  too. 

"  Dear  Boots,"  she  said,  "  can't  you  help  me  a  little? 
I  really  am  serious.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  the 
girl.  Philip  never  comes  near  us — once  a  week  for  an 
hour  or  two,  which  is  nothing — and  the  child  misses  him. 
There — the  murder  is  out!  Eileen  misses  him.  Oh, 
she  doesn't  say  so — she  doesn't  hint  it,  or  look  it ;  but 
I  know  her ;  I  know.  She  misses  him ;  she's  lonely.  And 
what  to  do  about  it  I  don't  know,  Boots,  I  don't  know." 

Lansing  had  ceased  laughing.  He  had  been  indulg 
ing  in  tea — a  shy  vice  of  his  which  led  him  to  haunt 
houses  where  that  out-of-f ashion  beverage  might  still  be 
had.  And  now  he  sat,  cup  suspended,  saucer  held  meekly 
against  his  chest,  gazing  out  at  the  pelting  snow- 
flakes. 

"  Boots,  dear,"  said  Nina,  who  adored  him,  "  tell  me 
what  to  do.  Tell  me  what  has  gone  amiss  between  my 
brother  and  Eileen.  Something  has.  And  whatever  it 
is,  it  began  last  autumn — that  day  when — you  remem 
ber  the  incident?  " 

Boots  nodded. 

"  Well,    it    seemed    to    upset    everybody,    somehow. 

Philip   left   the   next   day;    do   you    remember?      And 

28 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Eileen  has  never  been  quite  the  same.  Of  course,  I  don't 
ascribe  it  to  that  unpleasant  episode — even  a  young 
girl  gets  over  a  shock  in  a  day.  But  the — the  change 
— or  whatever  it  is — dated  from  that  night.  .  .  .  They 
— Philip  and  Eileen — had  been  inseparable.  It  was  good 
for  them — for  her,  too.  And  as  for  Phil — why,  he 
looked  about  twenty-one !  .  .  .  Boots,  I — I  had  hoped 
— expected — and  I  was  right !  They  were  on  the  verge 
of  it!" 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  curiously. 

"  Did  Philip  ever  say " 

"  No ;  he  never  says,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  that  men — close  friends — sometimes 
did." 

"  Sometimes — in  romantic  fiction.  Phil  wouldn't ; 
nor,"  he  added  smilingly,  "  would  I." 

"  How  do  you  know,  Boots  ?  "  she  asked,  leaning 
back  to  watch  him  out  of  mischievous  eyes.  "  How  do 
you  know  what  you'd  do  if  you  were  in  love — with 
Gladys,  for  example?" 

"  I  know  perfectly  well,"  he  said,  "  because  I  am." 

"  In  love !  "  incredulously. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Oh — you  mean  Drina." 

"  Who  else?  "  he  asked  lightly. 

"  I  thought  you  were  speaking  seriously.  I  " — all 
her  latent  instinct  for  such  meddling  aroused — "  I 
thought  perhaps  you  meant  Gladys." 

"  Gladys  who?  "  he  asked  blandly. 

"  Gladys  Orchil,  silly !    People  said " 

"  Oh,  Lord!  "  he  exclaimed;  "  if  people  <  said,'  then 
it's  all  over.  Nina !  do  I  look  like  a  man  on  a  still  hunt 
for  a  million  ?  " 

424 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


"  Gladys  is  a  beauty !  "  retorted  Nina  indignantly. 

"  With  the  intellect  of  a  Persian  kitten,"  he  nodded. 
"  I — that  was  not  a  nice  thing  to  say.  I'm  sorry.  I'm 
ashamed.  But,  do  you  know,  I  have  come  to  regard 
my  agreement  with  Drina  so  seriously  that  I  take  abso 
lutely  no  interest  in  anybody  else." 

"  Try  to  be  serious,  Boots,"  said  Nina.  "  There 
are  dozens  of  nice  girls  you  ought  to  be  agreeable  to. 
Austin  and  I  were  saying  only  last  night  what  a  pity 
it  is  that  you  don't  find  either  of  the  Minster  twins 
interesting " 

"  I  might  find  them  compoundly  interesting,"  he  ad 
mitted,  "  but  unfortunately  there's  no  chance  in  this 
country  for  multiple  domesticity  and  the  simpler  pleas 
ures  of  a  compound  life.  It's  no  use,  Nina;  I'm  not 
going  to  marry  any  girl  for  ever  so  long — anyway,  not 
until  Drina  releases  me  on  her  eighteenth  birthday. 
Hello  ! — somebody's  coming — and  I'm  off !  " 

"  I'm  not  at  home ;  don't  go !  "  said  Nina,  laying 
one  hand  on  his  arm  to  detain  him  as  a  card  was  brought 
up.  "  Oh,  it's  only  Rosamund  Fane !  I  did  promise  to 
go  to  the  Craigs'  with  her.  .  .  .  Do  you  mind  if  she 
comes  up  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  don't,"  said  Boots  blandly.  He  could 
not  endure  Rosamund  and  she  detested  him ;  and  Nina, 
who  was  perfectly  aware  of  this,  had  just  enough  of 
perversity  in  her  to  enjoy  their  meeting. 

Rosamund  came  in  breezily,  sables  powdered  with 
tiny  flecks  of  snow,  cheeks  like  damask  roses,  eyes  of 
turquoise. 

"  How  d'ye  do !  "  she  nodded,  greeting  Boots  as 
kance  as  she  closed  with  Nina.  "  I  came,  you  see,  but  do 
you  want  to  be  jammed  and  mauled  and  trodden  on  at 
the  Craigs'?  No?  That's  perfect !— neither  do  I. 

425 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Where  is  the  adorable  Eileen?  Nobody  sees  her  any 
more." 

"  She  was  at  the  Delmour-Carnes's  yesterday." 

"  Was  she?  Curious  I  didn't  see  her.  Tea?  With 
gratitude,  dear,  if  it's  Scotch." 

She  sat  erect,  the  furs  sliding  to  the  back  of  the 
chair,  revealing  the  rather  accented  details  of  her  per 
fectly  turned  figure ;  and  rolling  up  her  gloves  she 
laid  her  pretty  head  on  one  side  and  considered  Boots 
with  very  bright  and  malicious  eyes. 

"  They  say,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  that  some  very 
heavy  play  goes  on  in  that  cunning  little  new  house 
of  yours,  Mr.  Lansing." 

"  Really?  "  he  asked  blandly. 

"  Yes ;  and  I'm  wondering  if  it  is  true." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  care,  Mrs.  Fane,  as  long 
as  it  makes  a  good  story." 

Rosamund  flushed.  Then,  always  alive  to  humour, 
laughed  frankly. 

"  What  a  nasty  thing  to  say  to  a  woman !  "  she 
observed ;  "  it  fairly  reeks  impertinence.  Mr.  Lansing, 
you  don't  like  me  very  well,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not,"  he  said,  "  because  you  are  married. 
If  you  were  only  free  a  vinculo  matrimonii " 

Rosamund  laughed  again,  and  sat  stroking  her 
muff  and  smiling.  "  Curious,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said  to 
Nina — "  the  inborn  antipathy  of  two  agreeable  human 
bipeds  for  one  another.  Similis  simili  gaudet — as  my 
learned  friend  will  admit.  But  with  us  it's  the  old,  old 
case  of  that  eminent  practitioner,  the  late  Dr.  Fell. 
Esto  perpetual  Oh,  well!  We  can't  help  it,  can  we, 
Mr.  Lansing?  "  And  again  to  Nina:  "  Dear,  have  you 
heard  anything  about  Alixe  Ruthven?  I  think  it  is 
the  strangest  thing  that  nobody  seems  to  know  where 

426 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


she  is.  And  all  anybody  can  get  out  of  Jack  is  that 
she's  in  a  nerve  factory — or  some  such  retreat — and  a 
perfect  wreck.  She  might  as  well  be  dead,  you  know." 

"  In  that  case,"  observed  Lansing,  "  it  might  be 
best  to  shift  the  centre  of  gossip.  De  mortals  nil  nisi 
bonum — which  is  simple  enough  for  anybody  to  com 
prehend." 

"  That  is  rude,  Mr.  Lansing,"  flashed  out  Rosa 
mund;  and  to  his  astonishment  he  saw  the  tears  start 
to  her  eyes. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  sulkily. 

"  You  do  well  to.  I  care  more  for  Alixe  Ruthven 
than — than  you  give  me  credit  for  caring  about  any 
body.  People  are  never  wholly  worthless,  Mr.  Lansing 
— only  the  very  young  think  that.  Give  me  credit  for 
one  wholly  genuine  affection,  and  you  will  not  be  too 
credulous ;  and  perhaps  in  future  you  and  I  may  better 
be  able  to  endure  one  another  when  Fate  lands  us  at 
the  same  tea-table." 

Boots  said  respectfully :  "  I  am  sorry  for  what  I 
said,  Mrs.  Fane.  I  hope  that  your  friend  Mrs.  Ruthven 
will  soon  recover." 

Rosamund  looked  at  Nina,  the  tears  still  rimming 
her  lids.  "I  miss  her  frightfully,"  she  said.  "If 
somebody  would  only  tell  me  where  she  is — I — I  know  it 
could  do  no  harm  for  me  to  see  her.  I  can  be  as  gentle 
and  loyal  as  anybody — when  I  really  care  for  a  person. 
.  .  .  Do  you  know  where  she  might  be,  Nina?  " 

"I?  No,  I  do  not.  I'd  tell  you  if  I  did,  Rosa 
mund." 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Nina,  surprised  at  her  persistence. 

"  Because,"  continued  Rosamund,  "  your  brother 
does." 

427 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Nina  straightened  up,  flushed  and  astonished. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  he  does  know.  He  sent  her  to  Clifton. 
The  maid  who  accompanied  her  is  in  my  service  now. 
It's  a  low  way  of  finding  out  things,  but  we  all  do  it." 

"He — sent  Alixe  to — to  Clifton!"  repeated  Nina 
incredulously.  "  Your  maid  told  you  that  ?  " 

Rosamund  finished  the  contents  of  her  slim  glass 
and  rose.  "  Yes ;  and  it  was  a  brave  and  generous  and 
loyal  thing  for  him  to  do.  I  supposed  you  knew  it. 
Jack  has  been  too  beastly  to  her ;  she  was  on  the  verge 
of  breaking  down  when  I  saw  her  on  the  Niobrara,  and 
she  told  me  then  that  her  husband  had  practically  re 
pudiated  her.  .  .  .  Then  she  suddenly  disappeared; 
and  her  maid,  later,  came  to  me  seeking  a  place.  That's 
how  I  knew,  and  that's  all  I  know.  And  I  care  for 
Alixe;  and  I  honour  your  brother  for  what  he  did." 

She  stood  with  pretty  golden  head  bent,  absently 
arranging  the  sables  around  her  neck  and  shoulders. 

"  I  have  been  very  horrid  to  Captain  Selwyn,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  Tell  him  I  am  sorry ;  that  he  has  my 
respect.  .  .  .  And — if  he  cares  to  tell  me  where  Alixe 
is  I  shall  be  grateful  and  do  no  harm." 

She  turned  toward  the  door,  stopped  short,  came 
back,  and  made  her  adieux,  then  started  again  toward 
the  door,  not  noticing  Lansing. 

"  With  your  permission,"  said  Boots  at  her  shoul 
der  in  a  very  low  voice. 

She  looked  up,  surprised,  her  eyes  still  wet.  Then 
comprehending  the  compliment  of  his  attendance,  ac 
knowledged  it  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said  to  Nina.  Then  he  took 
Rosamund  down  to  her  brougham  with  a  silent  for 
mality  that  touched  her  present  sentimental  mood. 

428 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


She  leaned  from  her  carriage-window,  looking  at 
him  where  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  in  the  thickly  falling 
snow. 

"  Please — without  ceremony,  Mr.  Lansing."  And, 
as  he  covered  himself,  "  May  I  not  drop  you  at  your 
destination?  " 

"  Thank  you  " — in  refusal. 

"  I  thank  you  for  being  nice  to  me.  .  .  .  Please  be 
lieve  there  is  often  less  malice  than  perversity  in  me. 
I — I  have  a  heart,  Mr.  Lansing — such  as  it  is.  And 
often  those  I  torment  most  I  care  for  most.  It  was  so 
with  Alixe.  Good-bye." 

Boots's  salute  was  admirably  formal;  then  he  went 
on  through  the  thickening  snow,  swung  vigorously 
across  the  Avenue  to  the  Park-wall,  and,  turning  south, 
continued  on  parallel  to  it  under  the  naked  trees. 

It  must  have  been  thick  weather  on  the  river  and 
along  the  docks,  for  the  deep  fog-horns  sounded  per 
sistently  over  the  city,  and  the  haunted  warning  of  the 
sirens  filled  the  leaden  sky  lowering  through  the  white 
veil  descending  in  flakes  that  melted  where  they  fell. 

And,  as  Lansing  strode  on,  hands  deep  in  his  over 
coat,  more  than  one  mystery  was  unravelling  before 
his  keen  eyes  that  blinked  and  winked  as  the  clinging 
snow  blotted  his  vision. 

Now  he  began  to  understand  something  of  the 
strange  effacement  of  his  friend  Selwyn ;  he  began  to 
comprehend  the  curious  economies  practised,  the  con 
tinued  absence  from  club  and  coterie,  the  choice  of  the 
sordid  lodging  whither  Boots,  one  night,  seeing  him 
on  the  street  by  chance,  had  shamelessly  tracked  him — 
with  no  excuse  for  the  intrusion  save  his  affection  for 
this  man  and  his  secret  doubts  of  the  man's  ability  to 
take  care  of  himself  and  his  occult  affairs. 

429 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


Now  he  was  going  there,  exactly  what  to  do  he 
did  not  yet  know,  but  with  the  vague  determination 
to  do  something. 

On  the  wet  pavements  and  reeking  iron  overhead 
structure  along  Sixth  Avenue  the  street  lights  glim 
mered,  lending  to  the  filthy  avenue  under  its  rusty 
tunnel  a  mystery  almost  picturesque. 

Into  it  he  turned,  swung  aboard  a  car  as  it  shot 
groaning  and  clanking  around  the  curve  from  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  and  settled  down  to  brood  and  ponder 
and  consider  until  it  was  time  for  him  to  swing  off 
the  car  into  the  sh'my  street  once  more. 

Silvery  pools  of  light  inlaid  the  dim  expanse  of 
Washington  Square.  He  turned  east,  then  south,  then 
east  again,  and  doubled  into  a  dim  street,  where  old- 
time  houses  with  toppling  dormers  crowded  huddling 
together  as  though  in  the  cowering  contact  there  was 
safety  from  the  destroyer  who  must  one  day  come, 
bringing  steel  girders  and  cement  to  mark  their  graves 
with  sky-scraping  monuments  of  stone. 

Into  the  doorway  of  one  of  these  houses  Lansing 
turned.  When  the  town  was  young  a  Lansing  had 
lived  there  in  pomp  and  circumstance — his  own  great 
grandfather — and  he  smiled  grimly,  amused  at  the 
irony  of  ^things  terrestrial. 

A  slattern  at  the  door  halted  him : 

"  Nobody  ain't  let  up  them  stairs  without  my 
knowin'  why,"  she  mumbled. 

"  I  want  to  see  Captain  Selwyn,"  he  explained. 

"Hey?" 

"Captain  Selwyn!" 

"  Hey  ?  I'm  a  little  deef !  "  screeched  the  old  crone. 
"  Is  it  Cap'n  Selwyn  you  want  ?  " 

Above,  Selwyn,  hearing  his  name  screamed  through 
430 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


the  shadows  of  the  ancient  house,  came  to  the  stair 
well  and  looked  down  into  the  blackness. 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Glodden?  "  he  said  sharply;  then, 
catching  sight  of  a  dim  figure  springing  up  the  stairs : 

"Here!  this  way.  Is  it  for  me?"  and  as  Boots 
came  into  the  light  from  his  open  door :  "  Oh !  "  he 
whispered,  deadly  pale  under  the  reaction ;  "  I  thought 
it  was  a  telegram.  Come  in." 

Boots  shook  the  snow  from  his  hat  and  coat  into 
the  passageway  and  took  the  single  chair ;  Selwyn,  tall 
and  gaunt  in  his  shabby  dressing-gown,  stood  looking 
at  him  and  plucking  nervously  at  the  frayed  and 
tasselled  cord  around  his  waist. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  came  to  stumble  in  here," 
he  said  at  length,  "  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Boots,  gazing  shamelessly  and 
inquisitively  about.  There  was  nothing  to  see  except 
a  few  books,  a  pipe  or  two,  toilet  articles,  and  a 
shaky  gas-jet.  The  flat  military  trunk  was  under  the 
iron  bed. 

"  I — it's  not  much  of  a  place,"  observed  Selwyn, 
forcing  a  smile.  "  However,  you  see  I'm  so  seldom  in 
town;  I'm  busy  at  the  Hook,  you  know.  So  I  don't 
require  anything  elaborate." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Boots  solemnly.     A  silence. 

"  H — have  a  pipe?  "  inquired  Selwyn  uneasily.  He 
had  nothing  else  to  offer. 

Boots  leaned  back  in  his  stiff  chair,  crossed  his 
legs,  and  filled  a  pipe.  When  he  had  lighted  it  he  said : 

"How  are  things,  Phil ?" 

"  All  right.     First  rate,  thank  you." 

Boots  removed  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  s-wore 
at  him;  and  Selwyn  listened  with  head  obstinately  low 
ered  and  lean  hands  plucking  at  his  frayed  girdle.  And 

431 


THE   YOUNGER    SET 


when  Boots   had   ended  his   observations   with  an   em 
phatic  question,  Selwyn  shook  his  head: 

"  No,  Boots.  You're  very  good  to  ask  me  to  stop 
with  you,  but  I  can't.  I'd  be  hampered;  there  are 
matters — affairs  that  concern  me — that  need  instant 
attention  at  times — at  certain  times.  I  must  be  free 
to  go,  free  to  come.  I  couldn't  be  in  your  house. 
Don't  ask  me.  But  I'm — I  thank  you  for  offering " 

"Phil!" 

"What?" 

"  Are  you  broke  ?  " 

"  Ah— a  little  "—with  a  smile. 

"Will  you  take  what  you  require  from  me?" 

"  No." 

"  Oh — very  well.    I  was  horribly  afraid  you  would." 

Selwyn  laughed  and  leaned  back,  indenting  his 
meagre  pillow. 

"  Come,  Boots,"  he  said,  "  you  and  I  have  often 
had  worse  quarters  than  this.  To  tell  you  the  truth 
I  rather  like  it  than  otherwise." 

"  Oh,  damn !  "  said  Boots,  disgusted ;  "  the  same  old 
conscience  in  the  same  old  mule!  Who  likes  squa- 
lidity?  I  don't.  You  don't!  What  if  Fate  has  hit 
you  a  nasty  swipe!  Suppose  Fortune  has  landed  you 
a  few  in  the  slats!  It's  only  temporary  and  you  know 
it.  All  business  in  the  world  is  conducted  on  borrowed 
capital.  It's  your  business  to  live  in  decent  quarters, 
and  I'm  here  to  lend  you  the  means  of  conducting  that 
business.  Oh,  come  on,  Phil,  for  Heaven's  sake !  If 
there  were  really  any  reason — any  logical  reason  for 
this  genius-in-the-garret  business,  I'd  not  say  a  word. 
But  there  isn't ;  you're  going  to  make  money " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  got  to,"  said  Selwyn  simply. 

"  Well,  then !     In  the  meanwhile " 

432 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


"  No.  Listen,  Boots ;  I  couldn't  be  free  in  your 
house.  I — they — there  are  telegrams — unexpected 
ones — at  all  hours." 

"What  of  it?" 

"  You  don't  understand." 

"  Wait  a  bit!  How  do  you  know  I  don't?  Do  the 
telegrams  come  from  Sandy  Hook?  " 

"  No." 

Boots  looked  him  calmly  in  the  eye.  "  Then  I 
do  understand,  old  man.  Come  on  out  of  this,  in 
Heaven's  name !  Come,  now !  Get  your  dressing-gown 
off  and  your  coat  on!  Don't  you  think  I  understand? 
I  tell  you  I  do !  Yes,  the  whole  blessed,  illogical,  chiv 
alrous  business.  .  .  .  Never  mind  how  I  know — for  I 
won't  tell  you!  Oh,  I'm  not  trying  to  interfere  with 
you;  I  know  enough  to  shun  buzz-saws.  All  I  want  is 
for  you  to  come  and  take  that  big  back  room  and  help 
a  fellow  live  in  a  lonely  house — help  a  man  to  make  it 
cheerful.  I  can't  stand  it  alone  any  longer;  and  it 
will  be  four  years  before  Drina  is  eighteen." 

"  Drina ! "  repeated  Selwyn  blankly — then  he 
laughed.  It  was  genuine  laughter,  too ;  and  Boots 
grinned  and  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  recrossed  his 
legs,  watching  Selwyn  out  of  eyes  brightening  with 
expectancy. 

"  Then  it's  settled,"  he  said. 

"  What  ?     Your  ultimate  career  with  Drina  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  that  also.  But  I  referred  to  your  coming 
to  live  with  me." 

"Boots " 

"  Oh,  fizz !  Come  on.  I  don't  like  the  way  you  act, 
Phil." 

Selwyn  said   slowly :  "  Do  you   make  it  a  personal 

matter " 

433 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


"  Yes,  I  do ;  dam'f  I  don't !  You'll  be  perfectly  free 
there.  I  don't  care  what  you  do  or  where  you  go  or 
what  hours  you  keep.  You  can  run  up  and  down  Broad 
way  all  night,  if  you  want  to,  or  you  can  stop  at  home 
and  play  with  the  cats.  I've  three  fine  ones  " — he  made 
a  cup  of  his  hands  and  breathed  into  them,  for  the 
room  was  horribly  cold — "  three  fine  tabbies,  and  a  good 
fire  for  'em  to  blink  at  when  they  start  purring." 

He  looked  kindly  but  anxiously  at  Selwyn,  waiting 
for  a  word;  and  as  none  came  he  said: 

"  Old  fellow,  you  can't  fool  me  with  your  talk  about 
needing  nothing  better  because  you're  out  of  town  all 
the  time.  You  know  what  you  and  I  used  to  talk  about 
in  the  old  days — our  longing  for  a  home  and  an  open 
fire  and  a  brace  of  cats  and  bedroom  slippers.  Now 
I've  got  'em,  and  I  make  Ardois  signals  at  you.  If 
your  shelter-tent  got  afire  or  blew  away,  wouldn't  you 
crawl  into  mine?  And  are  you  going  to  turn  down  an 
old  tent-mate  because  his  shack  happens  to  be  built  of 
bricks?" 

"  Do  you  put  it  that  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  do  you  want  to 
stay  in  a  vile  hole  like  this — unless  you're  smitten  with 
Mrs.  Glodden?  Phil,  I  want  you  to  come.  Will  you?  " 

"  Then — I'll  accept  a  corner  of  your  blanket — for 
a  day  or  two,"  said  Selwyn  wearily.  ..."  You'll  let 
me  go  when  I  want  to?  " 

"  I'll  do  more ;  I'll  make  you  go  when  7  want  you 
to.  Come  on;  pay  Mrs.  Glodden  and  have  your  trunk 
sent." 

Selwyn  forced  a  laugh,  then  sat  up  on  the  bed's  edge 
and  looked  around  at  the  unpapered  walls. 

"  Boots — you  won't  say  to — to  anybody  what  sort 

of  a  place  I've  been  living  in " 

434 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


"  No ;  but  I  will  if  you  try  to  come  back  here." 
So  Selwyn  stood  up  and  began  to  remove  his  dress 
ing-gown,  and  Lansing  dragged  out  the  little  flat  trunk 
and  began  to  pack  it. 

An  hour  later  they  went  away  together  through  the 
falling  snow. 

•  •  •  •  • 

For  a  week  Boots  let  him  alone.  He  had  a  big, 
comfortable  room,  dressing-closet,  and  bath  adjoining 
the  suite  occupied  by  his  host;  he  was  absolutely  free 
to  go  and  come,  and  for  a  week  or  ten  days  Boots 
scarcely  laid  eyes  on  him,  except  at  breakfast,  for  Sel- 
wyn's  visits  to  Sandy  Hook  became  a  daily  routine  ex 
cept  when  a  telegram  arrived  from  Edgewater  calling 
him  there. 

But  matters  at  Edgewater  were  beginning  to  be 
easier  in  one  way  for  him.  Alixe  appeared  to  forget 
him  for  days  at  a  time ;  she  was  less  irritable,  less  rest 
less  and  exacting.  A  sweet-tempered  and  childish  do 
cility  made  the  care  of  her  a  simpler  matter  for  the 
nurses  and  for  him;  her  discontent  had  disappeared; 
she  made  fewer  demands.  She  did  ask  for  a  sleigh  to 
replace  the  phaeton,  and  Selwyn  managed  to  get  one 
for  her ;  and  Miss  Casson,  one  of  the  nurses,  wrote  him 
how  delighted  Alixe  had  been,  and  how  much  good  the 
sleighing  was  doing  her. 

"  Yesterday,"  continued  the  nurse  in  her  letter, 
"  there  was  a  consultation  here  between  Drs.  \^ail, 
Wesson,  and  Morrison — as  you  requested.  They  have 
not  changed  their  opinions — indeed,  they  are  convinced 
that  there  is  no  possible  chance  of  the  recovery  you 
hoped  for  when  you  talked  with  Dr.  Morrison.  They 
all  agree  that  Mrs.  Ruthven  is  in  excellent  physical 
condition — young,  strong,  vigorous — and  may  live  for 

435 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


years ;  may  outlive  us  all.     But  there  is  nothing  else  to 
expect." 

The  letter  ran  on: 

"  I  am  enclosing  the  bills  you  desired  to  have  sent 
you.  Fuel  is  very  expensive,  as  you  will  see.  The  items 
for  fruits,  too,  seems  unreasonably  large,  but  grapes 
are  two  dollars  a  pound  and  fresh  vegetables  dreadfully 
expensive. 

"  Mrs.  Ruthven  is  comfortable  and  happy  in  the 
luxury  provided.  She  is  very  sweet  and  docile  with  us 
all — and  we  are  careful  not  to  irritate  her  or  to  have 
anything  intrude  which  might  excite  or  cause  the  slight 
est  shock  to  her. 

"  Yesterday,  standing  at  the  window,  she  caught 
sight  of  a  passing  negro,  and  she  turned  to  me  like  a 
flash  and  said: 

"  '  The  Tenth  Cavalry  were  there ! ' 

"  She  seemed  rather  excited  for  a  moment — not  un 
pleasantly — but  when  I  ventured  to  ask  her  a  question, 
she  had  quite  forgotten  it  all. 

"  I  meant  to  thank  you  for  sending  me  the  revolver 
and  cartridges.  It  seemed  a  silly  request,  but  we  are  in 
a  rather  lonely  place,  and  I  think  Miss  Bond  and  I  feel 
a  little  safer  knowing  that,  in  case  of  necessity,  we  have 
something  to  frighten  away  any  roaming  intruder  who 
might  take  it  into  his  head  to  visit  us. 

"  One  thing  we  must  be  careful  about :  yesterday 
Mrs.  Ruthven  had  a  doll  on  my  bed,  and  I  sat  sewing 
by  the  window,  not  noticing  what  she  was  doing  until 
I  heard  her  pretty,  pathetic  little  laugh. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  she  had  done  ?  She  had 
discovered  your  revolver  under  my  pillow,  and  she  had 
tied  her  handkerchief  around  it,  and  was  using  it  as  a 
doll! 

436 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


"  I  got  it  away  with  a  little  persuasion,  but  at  times 
she  still  asks  for  her  '  army  '  doll — saying  that  a  boy 
she  knew,  named  Philip,  had  sent  it  to  her  from  Manila, 
where  he  was  living. 

"  This,  Captain  Selwyn,  is  all  the  news.  I  do  not 
think  she  will  begin  to  fret  for  you  again  for  some  time. 
At  first,  you  remember,  it  was  every  other  day,  then 
every  three  or  four  days.  It  has  now  been  a  week  since 
she  asked  for  you.  When  she  does  I  will,  as  usual, 
telegraph  you. 

"  With  many  thanks  for  your  kindness  to  us  all, 
"  Very  respectfully  yours, 

"  MARY  CASSON." 

Selwyn  read  this  letter  sitting  before  the  fire  in  the 
living-room,  feet  on  the  fender,  pipe  between  his  teeth. 
It  was  the  first  day  of  absolute  rest  he  had  had  in  a 
long  while. 

The  day  before  he  had  been  at  the  Hook  until  almost 
dark,  watching  the  firing  of  a  big  gun,  and  the  results 
had  been  so  satisfactory  that  he  was  venturing  to  give 
himself  a  holiday — unless  wanted  at  Edgewater. 

But  the  morning  had  brought  this  letter ;  Alixe  was 
contented  and  comfortable.  So  when  Boots,  after  break 
fast,  went  off  to  his  Air  Line  office,  Selwyn  permitted 
himself  the  luxury  of  smoking- j  a  eke  t  and  slippers,  and 
settled  down  before  the  fire  to  reread  the  letter  and  ex 
amine  the  enclosed  bills,  and  ponder  and  worry  over  them 
at  his  ease.  To  have  leisure  to  worry  over  perplexities 
was  something ;  to  worry  in  such  luxury  as  this  seemed 
something  so  very  near  to  happiness  that  as  he  re 
folded  the  last  bill  for  household  expenses  he  smiled 
faintly  to  himself. 

Boots's  three  tabby-cats  were  disposed  comfortably 
437 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


before  the  blaze,  fore  paws  folded  under,  purring  and 
blinking  lazily  at  the  grate.  All  around  were  evidences 
of  Boots's  personal  taste  in  pretty  wall-paper  and  hang 
ings,  a  few  handsome  Shiraz  rugs  underfoot,  deep,  com 
fortable  chairs,  low,  open  bookcases  full  of  promising 
literature — the  more  promising  because  not  contempo 
rary. 

Selwyn  loved  such  a  room  as  this — where  all  was 
comfort,  and  nothing  in  the  quiet,  but  cheerful,  ensemble 
disturbed  the  peaceful  homeliness. 

Once — and  not  very  long  since — he  had  persuaded 
himself  that  there  had  been  a  chance  for  him  to  have 
such  a  home,  and  live  in  it — not  alone.  That  chance 
had  gone — had  never  really  existed,  he  knew  now.  For 
sooner  or  later  he  must  have  awakened  from  the  pleasant 
dreams  of  self -persuasion  to  the  reality  of  his  relentless 
responsibility.  No,  there  had  never  been  such  a  chance ; 
and  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  learned  before  it  was  too 
late  that  for  him  there  could  be  no  earthly  paradise, 
no  fireside  &  deux,  no  home,  no  hope  of  it. 

As  long  as  Alixe  lived  his  spiritual  responsibility 
must  endure.  And  they  had  just  told  him  that  she 
might  easily  outlive  them  all. 

He  turned  heavily  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  the 
fire.  Perhaps  he  saw  infernal  visions  in  the  flames ;  per 
haps  the  blaze  meant  nothing  more  to  him  than  an  ex 
ample  of  chemical  reaction,  for  his  face  was  set  and 
colourless  and  vacant,  and  his  hands  lay  loosely  along 
the  padded  arms  of  his  easy-chair. 

The  hardest  lesson  he  had  to  learn  in  these  days  was 
to  avoid  thinking.  Or,  if  he  must  surrender  to  the 
throbbing,  unbidden  memories  which  came  crowding  in 
hordes  to  carry  him  by  the  suddenness  of  their  assault, 
that  he  learn  to  curb  and  subdue  and  direct  them  in  pity 

438 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


toward  that  hopeless,  helpless,  stricken  creature  who 
was  so  utterly  dependent  upon  him  in  her  dreadful 
isolation. 

And  he  could  not  so  direct  them. 

Loyal  in  act  and  deed,  his  thoughts  betrayed  him. 
Memories,  insurgent,  turned  on  him  to  stab  him ;  and  he 
shrank  from  them,  cowering  among  his  pillows  at  mid 
night.  But  memory  is  merciless,  and  what  has  been  is 
without  pity ;  and  so  remembrance  rose  at  midnight  from 
its  cerements,  like  a  spectre,  floating  before  his  covered 
eyes,  wearing  the  shape  of  youth  and  love,  crowned  with 
the  splendour  of  her  hair,  looking  at  him  out  of  those 
clear,  sweet  eyes  whose  gaze,  was  purity  and  truth 
eternal. 

And  truth  is  truth,  though  he  might  lie  with  hands 
clinched  across  his  brow  to  shut  out  the  wraith  of  it 
that  haunted  him ;  though  he  might  set  his  course  by  the 
faith  that  was  in  him,  and  put  away  the  hope  of  the 
world — whose  hope  is  love — the  truth  was  there,  staring, 
staring  at  him  out  of  Eileen  Erroll's  dark-blue  eyes. 

He  had  seen  her  seldom  that  winter.  When  he  had 
seen  her  their  relations  appeared  to  be  as  happy,  as 
friendly  as  before ;  there  was  no  apparent  constraint, 
nothing  from  her  to  indicate  that  she  noticed  an  absence 
for  which  his  continual  business  with  the  Government 
seemed  sufficient  excuse. 

Besides,  her  days  were  full  days,  consequent  upon 
Nina's  goading  and  indefatigable  activity;  and  Eileen 
danced  and  received,  and  she  bridged  and  lunched,  and 
she  heard  opera  Wednesdays  and  was  good  to  the  poor 
on  Fridays ;  and  there  were  balls,  and  theatres,  and 
classes  for  intellectual  improvement,  and  routine  duties 
incident  to  obligations  born  with  those  inhabitants  of 
29  439 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Manhattan  who  are  numbered  among  the  thousand  cary 
atides  that  support  upon  their  jewelled  necks  and  naked 
shoulders  the  social  structure  of  the  metropolis. 

But  Selwyn,  unable  longer  to  fulfil  his  social  obli 
gations,  was  being  quietly  eliminated  from  the  social 
scheme  of  things.  Passed  over  here,  dropped  there, 
counted  out  as  one  more  man  not  to  be  depended  upon, 
it  was  not  a  question  of  loss  of  caste ;  he  simply  stayed 
away,  and  his  absence  was  accepted  by  people  who,  in 
the  breathless  pleasure  phase,  have  no  leisure  to  inquire 
why  a  man  has  lagged  Beteid. 

There  were  rumours,  nbwever,  that  he  had  merely 
temporarily  donned  overa^Js  for  the  purpose  of  making 
a  gigantic  fortune;  and  many  an  envious  young  fellow 
asked  his  pretty  partn«  in  the  dance  if  it  was  true, 
and  many  a  young  girlwprankly  hoped  it  was,  and  that 
the  fortune  would.be  quick  in  the  making.  For  Selwyn 
was  well  liked  in  SKeN^rbun^*  set,  and  that  he  was  in 
process  of  becomrngndijgible  interested  everybody  except 
Gladys  and  the  Dimeter  twins,  who  considered  him 
sufficiently  el^bleWirhout  the  material  additions  re 
quired  by  tn^i^\cyiiical  seniors,  and  would  rather 
have  had  him  ptomless  and  present  than  absent  and 
opulent.  vj 

But  they  were  young  and  foolish,  and  after  a  while 
they  forgot  to  miss  him,  particularly  Gladys,  whose 
mother  had  asked  her  not  to  dance  quite  so  often  with 
Gerald,  and  to  favour  him  a  trifle  less  frequently  in 
cotillon.  Which  prevoyance  had  been  coped  with  suc 
cessfully  by  Nina,  who,  noticing  it,  at  first  took  merely 
a  perverse  pleasure  in  foiling  Mrs.  Orchil;  but  after 
ward,  as  the  affair  became  noticeable,  animated  by  the 
instinct  of  the  truly  clever  opportunist,  she  gave  Gerald 
every  fighting  chance.  Whatever  came  of  it — and,  no 

440 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


doubt,  the  Orchils  had  more  ambitious  views  for  Gladys 
— it  was  well  to  have  Gerald  mentioned  in  such  a  fashion 
able  episode,  whether  anything  came  of  it  or  not. 

Gerald,  in  the  early  days  of  his  affair  with  Gladys, 
and  before  even  it  had  assumed  the  proportions  of  an 
affair,  had  shyly  come  to  Selwyn,  not  for  confession  but 
with  the  crafty  purpose  of  introducing  her  name  into 
the  conversation  so  that  he  might  have  the  luxury  of 
talking  about  her  to  somebody  who  would  neither  quiz 
him  nor  suspect  him. 

Selwyn,  of  course,  ultimately  suspected  him ;  but  as 
he  never  quizzed  him,  Gerald  continued  his  elaborate 
system  of  subterfuges  to  make  her  personality  and  do 
ings  a  topic  for  him  to  expand  upon  and  Selwyn  to 
listen  to. 

It  had  amused  Selwyn ;  he  thought  of  it  now — a  gay 
memory  like  a  ray  of  light  flung  for  a  moment  across 
the  sombre  background  of  his  own  sadness.  Fortunate 
or  unfortunate,  Gerald  was  still  lucky  in  his  freedom 
to  hazard  it  with  chance  and  fate. 

Freedom  to  love!  That  alone  was  blessed,  though 
that  love  be  unreturned.  Without  that  right — the  right 
to  love — a  man  was  no  man.  Lansing  had  been  correct : 
such  a  man  was  a  spectre  in  a  living  world — the  ghost 
of  what  he  had  been.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and 
there  Lansing  had  been  in  the  wrong.  No  hope,  no 
help,  nothing  for  it  but  to  set  a  true  course  and 
hang  to  it. 

And  Selwyn's  dull  eyes  rested  upon  the  ashes  of  the 
fire,  and  he  saw  his  dead  youth  among  them ;  and,  in  the 
flames,  his  maturity  burning  to  embers. 

If  he  outlived  Alixe,  his  life  would  lie  as  the  ashes 
lay  at  his  feet.  If  she  outlived  him — and  they  had 
told  him  there  was  every  chance  of  it — at  least  he  would 

441 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


have  something  to  busy  himself  with  in  life  if  he  was 
to  leave  her  provided  for  when  he  was  no  longer  there 
to  stand  between  her  and  charity. 

That  meant  work — the  hard,  incessant,  blinding, 
stupefying  work  which  stuns  thought  and  makes  such 
a  life  endurable. 

Not  that  he  had  ever  desired  death  as  a  refuge  or 
as  a  solution  of  despair;  there  was  too  much  of  the 
soldier  in  him.  Besides,  it  is  so  impossible  for  youth 
to  believe  in  death,  to  learn  to  apply  the  word  to  them 
selves.  He  had  not  learned  to,  and  he  had  seen  death, 
and  watched  it;  but  for  himself  he  had  not  learned  to 
believe  in  it.  When  one  turns  forty  it  is  easier  to 
credit  it. 

Thinking  of  death,  impersonally,  he  sat  watching 
the  flames  playing  above  the  heavy  log;  and  as  he  lay 
there  in  his  chair,  the  unlighted  pipe  drooping  in  his 
hands,  the  telephone  on  the  desk  rang,  and  he  rose  and 
unhooked  the  receiver. 

Drina's  voice  sounded  afar,  and :  "  Hello,  sweet 
heart  !  "  he  said  gaily ;  "  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
your  youthful  highness  ?  " 

"  I've  been  talking  over  the  'phone  to  Boots,"  she 
said.  "  You  know,  whenever  I  have  nothing  to  do  I 
call  up  Boots  at  his  office  and  talk  to  him." 

"  That  must  please  him,"  suggested  Selwyn  gravely. 

"  It  does.  Boots  says  you  are  not  going  to  business 
to-day.  So  I  thought  I'd  call  you  up." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Selwyn. 

"  You  are  welcome.  What  are  you  doing  over  there 
in  Boots's  house?" 

"  Looking  at  the  fire,  Drina,  and  listening  to  the 
purring  of  three  fat  tabby-cats." 

"  Oh !  Mother  and  Eileen  have  gone  somewhere.  I 
442 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


haven't  anything  to  do  for  an  hour.  Can't  you  come 
around?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  if  you  want  me." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Of  course  I  can't  have  Boots,  and  I 
prefer  you  next.  The  children  are  fox-hunting,  and 
it  bores  me.  Will  you  come?  " 

"Yes.    When?" 

"  Now.  And  would  you  mind  bringing  me  a  box 
of  mint-paste?  Mother  won't  object.  Besides,  I'll  tell 
her,  anyway,  after  I've  eaten  them." 

"  All  right !  "  said  Selwyn,  laughing  and  hanging 
up  the  receiver. 

On  his  way  to  the  Gerards'  he  bought  a  box  of  the 
confection  dear  to  Drina.  But  as  he  dropped  the  packet 
into  his  overcoat-pocket,  the  memory  of  the  past  rose 
up  suddenly,  halting  him.  He  could  not  bear  to  go  to 
the  house  without  some  little  gift  for  Eileen,  and  it  was 
violets  now  as  it  was  in  the  days  that  could  never  dawn 
again — a  great,  fragrant  bunch  of  them,  which  he  would 
leave  for  her  after  his  brief  play-hour  with  Drina  was 
ended. 

The  child  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  expressed  herself 
so,  coming  across  to  the  chair  where  he  sat  and  leaning 
against  him,  one  arm  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  I  miss  you  ever 
so  much  ?  Do  you  know,  also,  that  I  am  nearly  fourteen, 
and  that  there  is  nobody  in  this  house  near  enough  my 
age  to  be  very  companionable?  I  have  asked  them  to 
send  me  to  school,  and  mother  is  considering  it." 

She  leaned  against  his  shoulder,  curly  head  bent, 
thoughtfully  studying  the  turquoise  ring  on  her  slim 
finger.  It  was  her  first  ring.  Nina  had  let  Boots  give 
it  to  her. 

"  What  a  taH  girl  you  are  growing  into !  "  he  said, 
443 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


encircling  her  waist  with  one  arm.  "  Your  mother  was 
like  you  at  fourteen.  .  .  .  Did  she  ever  tell  you  how 
she  first  met  your  father?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  then. 
Your  father  was  a  schoolboy  of  fifteen,  and  one  day 
he  saw  the  most  wonderful  little  girl  riding  a  polo  pony 
out  of  the  Park.  Her  mother  was  riding  with  her. 
And  he  lost  his  head,  and  ran  after  her  until  she  rode 
into  the  Academy  stables.  And  in  he  went,  headlong, 
after  her,  and  found  her  dismounted  and  standing  with 
her  mother ;  and  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  he  said  to  her 
mother :  *  I've  run  quite  a  long  way  to  tell  you  who  I 
am:  I  am  Colonel  Gerard's  son,  Austin.  Would  you 
care  to  know  me  ?  ' 

"  And  he  looked  at  the  little  girl,  who  had  curls  pre 
cisely  like  yours,  and  the  same  little  nose  and  mouth. 
And  that  little  girl,  who  is  now  your  mother,  said  very 
simply :  '  Won't  you  come  home  to  luncheon  with  us  ? 
May  he,  mother?  He  has  run  a  very  long  way  to  be 
polite  to  us.' 

"  And  your  mother's  mother  looked  at  the  boy  for 
a  moment,  smiling,  for  he  was  the  image  of  his  father, 
who  had  been  at  school  with  her.  Then  she  said :  '  Come 
to  luncheon  and  tell  me  about  your  father.  Your  father 
once  came  a  thousand  miles  to  see  me,  but  I  had  started 
the  day  before  on  my  wedding-trip.' 

"  And  that  is  how  your  father  first  met  your  mother, 
when  she  was  a  little  girl." 

Drina  laughed :  "  What  a  funny  boy  father  was  to 
run  after  a  strange  girl  on  a  polo  pony !  .  .  .  Suppose 
— suppose  he  had  not  seen  her,  and  had  not  run  after 
her.  .  .  .  Where  would  I  be  now,  Uncle  Philip?  .  .  . 
Could  you  please  tell  me?  " 

"  Still  aloft  among  the  cherubim,  sweetheart." 
444 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


"  But — whose  uncle  would  you  be  ?  And  who  would 
Boots  have  found  for  a  comrade  like  me?  .  .  .  It's  a 
good  thing  that  father  ran  after  that  polo  pony.  .  .  . 
Probably  God  arranged  it.  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  thinking  it,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  No ;  no  harm.  I've  known  for  a  long  while  that 
He  was  taking  care  of  Boots  for  me  until  I  grow  up. 
Meanwhile,  I  know  some  very  nice  Harvard  freshmen 
and  two  boys  from  St.  Paul  and  five  from  Groton.  That 
helps,  you  know." 

"  Helps  what  ?  "  asked  Selwyn,  vastly  amused. 

"  To  pass  the  time  until  I  am  eighteen,"  said  the 
child  serenely,  helping  herself  to  another  soft,  pale-green 
chunk  of  the  aromatic  paste.  "  Uncle  Philip,  mother 
has  forbidden  me — and  I'll  tell  her  and  take  my  punish 
ment — but  would  you  mind  telling  me  how  you  first 
met  my  Aunt  Alixe  ?  " 

Selwyn's  arm  around  her  relaxed,  then  tightened. 

"Why  do  you  ask,  dear?  "  he  said  very  quietly. 

"  Because  I  was  just  wondering  whether  God  ar 
ranged  that,  too." 

Selwyn  looked  at  her  a  moment.  "Yes,"  he  said 
grimly ;  "  nothing  happens  by  chance." 

"  Then,  when  God  arranges  such  things,  He  does  not 
always  consider  our  happiness." 

"  He  gives  us  our  chance,  Drina." 

"  Oh !  Did  you  have  a  chance  ?  I  heard  mother 
say  to  Eileen  that  you  had  never  had  a  chance  for  hap 
piness.  I  thought  it  was  very  sad.  I  had  gone  into  the 
clothes-press  to  play  with  my  dolls — you  know  I  still  do 
play  with  them — that  is,  I  go  into  some  secret  place  and 
look  at  them  at  times  when  the  children  are  not  around. 
So  I  was  in  there,  sitting  on  the  cedar-chest,  and  I 
couldn't  help  hearing  what  they  said." 

445 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


She  extracted  another  bonbon,  bit  into  it,  and  shook 
her  head: 

"  And  mother  said  to  Eileen :  '  Dearest,  can't  you 
learn  to  care  for  him  ?  '  And  Eileen " 

"  Drina !  "  he  interrupted  sharply,  "  you  must  not 
repeat  things  you  overhear." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  hear  anything  more,"  said  the  child, 
"  because  I  remembered  that  I  shouldn't  listen,  and  I 
came  out  of  the  closet.  Mother  was  standing  by  the 
bed,  and  Eileen  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her  hands 
over  her  eyes;  and  I  didn't  know  she  had  been  crying 
until  I  said :  *  Please  excuse  me  for  listening,'  and  she 
sat  up  very  quickly,  and  I  saw  her  face  was  flushed 
and  her  eyes  wet.  .  .  .  Isn't  it  possible  for  you  to 
marry  anybody,  Uncle  Philip  ?  " 

"  No,  Drina." 

"  Not  even  if  Eileen  would  marry  you?  " 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"  You  could  not  understand,  dear.  Even  your 
mother  cannot  quite  understand.  So  we  won't  ever  speak 
of  it  again,  Drina." 

The  child  balanced  a  bonbon  between  thumb  and 
forefinger,  considering  it  very  gravely. 

"  I  know  something  that  mother  does  not,"  she  said. 
And  as  he  betrayed  no  curiosity: 

"  Eileen  is  in  love.    I  heard  her  say  so." 

He  straightened  up  sharply,  turning  to  look  at  her. 

"  I  was  sleeping  with  her.  I  was  still  awake,  and  I 
heard  her  say :  '  I  do  love  you — I  do  love  you.'  She 
said  it  very  softly,  and  I  cuddled  up,  supposing  she 
meant  me.  But  she  was  asleep." 

"  She  certainly  meant  you,"  said  Selwyn,  forcing 
his  stiffened  lips  into  a  smile. 

446 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


The  child  shook  her  head,  looking  down  at  the  ring 
which  she  was  turning  on  her  finger: 

"  No ;  she  did  not  mean  me." 

"  H-how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  she  said  a  man's  name." 

The  silence  lengthened ;  he  sat,  tilted  a  little  forward, 
blank  gaze  f ocussed  on  the  snowy  window ;  Drina,  stand 
ing,  leaned  back  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  absently 
studying  her  ring. 

A  few  moments  later  her  music-teacher  arrived,  and 
Drina  was  obliged  to  leave  him. 

"  If  you  don't  wait  until  I  have  finished  my  music," 
she  said,  "  you  won't  see  mother  and  Eileen.  They 
are  coming  to  take  me  to  the  riding-school  at  four 
o'clock." 

He  said  that  he  couldn't  stay  that  day ;  and  when 
she  had  gone  away  to  the  schoolroom  he  walked  slowly 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  across  the  snowy  Park, 
where  hundreds  of  children  were  floundering  about  with 
gaily  painted  sleds.  It  was  a  pretty  scene  in  the  sun 
shine  ;  crimson  sweaters  and  toboggan  caps  made  vivid 
spots  of  colour  on  the  white  expanse.  Beyond,  through 
the  naked  trees,  he  could  see  the  drive,  and  the  sleighs 
with  their  brilliant  scarlet  plumes  and  running-gear 
flashing  in  the  sun.  Overhead  was  the  splendid  winter 
blue  of  the  New  York  sky,  in  which,  at  a  vast  height, 
sea-birds  circled. 

Meaning  to  go — for  the  house  and  its  associations 
made  him  restless — he  picked  up  the  box  of  violets  and 
turned  to  ring  for  a  maid  to  take  charge  of  them — and 
found  himself  confronting  Eileen,  who,  in  her  furs  and 
gloves,  was  just  entering  the  room. 

"  I  came  up,"  she  said ;  "  they  told  me  you  were 
here,  calling  very  formally  upon  Drina,  if  you  please. 

447 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


What  with  her  monopoly  of  you  and  Boots,  there  seems 
to  be  no  chance  for  Nina  and  me." 

They  shook  hands  pleasantly;  he  offered  her  the 
box  of  violets,  and  she  thanked  him  and  opened  it,  and, 
lifting  the  heavy,  perfumed  bunch,  bent  her  fresh  young 
face  to  it.  For  a  moment  she  stood  inhaling  the  scent, 
then  stretched  out  her  arm,  offering  their  fragrance  to 
him. 

"  The  first  night  I  ever  knew  you,  you  sent  me  about 
a  wagon-load  of  violets,"  she  said  carelessly. 

He  nodded  pleasantly ;  she  tossed  her  muff  on  to  the 
library  table,  stripped  off  her  gloves,  and  began  to  un 
hook  her  fur  coat,  declining  his  aid  with  a  quick  shake 
of  her  head. 

"  It  is  easy — you  see !  " — as  the  sleeves  slid  from  her 
arms  and  the  soft  mass  of  fur  fell  into  a  chair.  "  And, 
by  the  way,  Drina  said  that  you  couldn't  wait  to  see 
Nina,"  she  continued,  turning  to  face  a  mirror  and  be 
ginning  to  withdraw  the  jewelled  pins  from  her  hat,  "  so 
you  won't  for  a  moment  consider  it  necessary  to  remain 
just  because  I  wandered  in — will  you?  " 

He  made  no  reply ;  she  was  still  busy  with  her  veil 
and  hat  and  her  bright,  glossy  hair,  the  ends  of  which 
curled  up  at  the  temples — a  burnished  frame  for  her 
cheeks  which  the  cold  had  delicately  flushed  to  a  wild- 
rost  tint.  Then,  brushing  back  the  upcurled  tendrils 
of  her  hair,  she  turned  to  confront  him,  faintly  smiling, 
brows  lifted  in  silent  repetition  of  her  question. 

"  I  will  stay  until  Nina  comes,  if  I  may,"  he  said 
slowly. 

She  seated  herself.  "  You  may,"  she  said  mockingly ; 
"  we  don't  allow  you  in  the  house  very  often,  so  when 
you  do  come  you  may  remain  until  the  entire  family 
can  congregate  to  inspect  you."  She  leaned  back,  look- 

448 


HIS   OWN    WAY 


ing  at  him ;  then  look  and  manner  changed,  and  she  bent 
impulsively  forward: 

"  You  don't  look  very  well,  Captain  Selwyn ;  are 
you?" 

"  Perfectly.  I  " — he  laughed — "  I  am  growing  old ; 
that  is  all." 

"  Do  you  say  that  to  annoy  me?  "  she  asked,  with 
a  disdainful  shrug,  "  or  to  further  impress  me?  " 

He  shook  his  head  and  touched  the  hair  at  his  tem 
ples  significantly. 

"  Pooh !  "  she  retorted.  "  It  is  becoming — is  that 
what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  hope  it  is.  There's  no  reason  why  a  man  should 
not  grow  old  gracefully " 

"  Captain  Selwyn !  But  of  course  you  only  say  it 
to  bring  out  that  latent  temper  of  mine.  It's  about 
the  only  thing  that  does  it,  too.  .  .  .  And  please  don't 
plague  me — if  you've  only  a  few  moments  to  stay. 
...  It  may  amuse  you  to  know  that  I,  too,  am  ex 
hibiting  signs  of  increasing  infirmity;  my  temper,  if 
you  please,  is  not  what  it  once  was." 

"Worse  than  ever?"  he  asked  in  pretended  aston 
ishment. 

"  Far  worse.  It  is  vicious.  Kit-Ki  took  a  nap  on 
a  new  dinner-gown  of  mine,  and  I  slapped  her.  And 
the  other  day  Drina  hid  in  a  clothes-press  while  Nina 
was  discussing  my  private  affairs,  and  when  the  little 
imp  emerged  I  could  have  shaken  her.  Oh,  I  am  cer 
tainly  becoming  infirm ;  so  if  you  are,  too,  comfort 
yourself  with  the  knowledge  that  I  am  keeping  pace 
with  you  through  the  winter  of  our  discontent." 

At  the  mention  of  the  incident  of  which  Drina  had 
already  spoken  to  him,  Selwyn  raised  his  head  and  looked 
at  the  girl  curiously.  Then  he  laughed. 

449 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  I  am  wondering,"  he  said  in  a  bantering  voice, 
"  what  secrets  Drina  heard.  I  think  I'd  better  ask 
her " 

"  You  had  better  not !  Besides,  I  said  nothing  at 
all." 

"  But  Nina  did." 

She  nodded,  lying  there,  arms  raised,  hands  clasping 
the  upholstered  wings  of  the  big  chair,  and  gazing  at 
him  out  of  indolent,  amused  eyes. 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  what  Nina  was  saying  to 
me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'd  rather  hear  what  you  said  to  her." 

"  I  told  you  that  I  said  nothing." 

"  Not  a  word?  "  he  insisted. 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Not  even  a  sound  ?  " 

"  N — well — I  won't  answer  that." 

"  Oho !  "  he  laughed.  "  So  you  did  make  some  sort 
of  inarticulate  reply !  Were  you  laughing  or  weeping?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  was  yawning.  How  do  you  know  ?  " 
she  smiled. 

After  a  moment  he  said,  still  curious:  "  Why  were 
you  crying,  Eileen  ?  " 

"  Crying !    I  didn't  say  I  was  crying." 

"  I  assume  it." 

"  To  prove  or  disprove  that  assumption,"  she  said 
coolly,  amused,  "  let  us  hunt  up  a  motive  for  a  possible 
display  of  tears.  What,  Captain  Selwyn,  have  I  to  cry 
about?  Is  there  anything  in  the  world  that  I  lack? 
Anything  that  I  desire  and  cannot  have?  " 

"  Is  there  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  asked  you,  Captain  Selwyn." 

"  And,  unable  to  reply,"  he  said,  "  I  ask  you." 

"  And  I,"  she  retorted,  "  refuse  to  answer." 
450 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


"Oho!  So  there  is,  then,  something  you  lack? 
There  is  a  motive  for  possible  tears?  " 

"  You  have  not  proven  it,"  she  said. 

"  You  have  not  denied  it." 

She  tipped  back  her  head,  linked  her  fingers  under 
her  chin,  and  looked  at  him  across  the  smooth  curve 
of  her  cheeks. 

"  Well — yes,"  she  admitted,  "  I  was  crying — if  you 
insist  on  knowing.  Now  that  you  have  so  cleverly  driven 
me  to  admit  that,  can  you  also  force  me  to  tell  you  why 
I  was  so  tearful?" 

"  Certainly,"  he  said  promptly ;  "  it  was  something 
Nina  said  that  made  you  cry." 

They  both  laughed. 

"  Oh,  what  a  come-down !  "  she  said  teasingly.  "  You 
knew  that  before.  But  can  you  force  me  to  confess  to 
you  what  Nina  was  saying?  If  you  can  you  are  the 
cleverest  cross-examiner  in  the  world,  for  I'd  rather 
perish  than  tell  you " 

"  Oh,"  he  said  instantly,  "  then  it  was  something 
about  love ! " 

He  had  not  meant  to  say  it ;  he  had  spoken  too 
quickly,  and  the  flush  of  surprise  on  the  girl's  face  was 
matched  by  the  colour  rising  to  his  own  temples.  And, 
to  retrieve  the  situation,  he  spoke  too  quickly  again — 
and  too  lightly. 

"  A  girl  would  rather  perish  than  admit  that  she  is 
in  love?  "  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh.  "  That  is  rather  a 
clever  deduction,  I  think.  Unfortunately,  however,  I 
happen  to  know  to  the  contrary,  so  all  my  cleverness 
comes  to  nothing." 

The  surprise  had  faded  from  her  face,  but  the  colour 
remained;  and  with  it  something  else — something  in 
the  blue  eyes  which  he  had  never  before  encountered 

451 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


there — the  faintest  trace  of  recoil,  of  shrinking  away 
from  him. 

And  she  herself  did  not  know  it  was  there — did  not 
quite  realise  that  she  had  been  hurt.  Surprise  that  he 
had  chanced  so  abruptly,  so  unerringly  upon  the  truth 
had  startled  and  confused  her;  but  that  he  had  made 
free  of  the  truth  so  lightly,  so  carelessly,  laughingly 
amused,  left  her  without  an  answering  smile. 

That  it  had  been  an  accident — a  chance  surmise  which 
perhaps  he  himself  did  not  credit — which  he  could  not 
believe — made  it  no  easier  for  her.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  had  said  something  which  left  her  unresponsive, 
with  a  sense  of  bruised  delicacy  and  of  privacy  invaded. 
A  tinge  of  fear  of  him  crept  in,  too.  She  did  not  mis 
construe  what  he  had  said  under  privilege  of  a  jest,  but 
after  what  had  once  passed  between  them  she  had  not 
considered  that  love,  even  in  the  abstract,  might  serve 
as  a  mocking  text  for  any  humour  or  jesting  sermon 
from  a  man  who  had  asked  her  what  he  once  asked — 
the  man  she  had  loved  enough  to  weep  for  when  she  had 
refused  him  only  because  she  lacked  what  he  asked  for. 
Knowing  that  she  loved  him  in  her  own  innocent  fashion, 
scarcely  credulous  that  he  ever  could  be  dearer  to  her, 
yet  shyly  wistful  for  whatever  more  the  years  might  add 
to  her  knowledge  of  a  love  so  far  immune  from  stress 
or  doubt  or  the  mounting  thrill  of  a  deeper  emotion, 
she  had  remained  confidently  passive,  warmly  loyal,  rev 
erencing  the  mystery  of  the  love  he  offered,  though  she 
could  not  understand  it  or  respond. 

And  now — now  a  chance  turn  of  a  word — a  trend 
to  an  idle  train  of  thought,  jestingly  followed! — and, 
without  warning,  they  had  stumbled  on  a  treasured 
memory,  too  frail,  too  delicately  fragile,  to  endure  the 
shock. 

452 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


And  now  fear  crept  in — fear  that  he  had  forgotten, 
had  changed.  Else  how  could  he  have  spoken  so?  .  .  . 
And  the  tempered  restraint  of  her  quivered  at  the 
thought — all  the  serenity,  the  confidence  in  life  and  in 
him  began  to  waver.  And  her  first  doubt  crept  in  upon 
her. 

She  turned  her  expressionless  face  from  him  and, 
resting  her  cheek  against  the  velvet  back  of  the  chair, 
looked  out  into  the  late  afternoon  sunshine. 

All  the  long  autumn  without  him,  all  her  long,  lonely, 
leisure  hours  in  the  golden  weather,  his  silence,  his  with 
drawal  into  himself,  and  his  work,  hitherto  she  had  not 
misconstrued,  though  often  she  confused  herself  in  ex 
plaining  it.  Impatience  of  his  absence,  too,  had  stimu 
lated  her  to  understand  the  temporary  state  of  things — 
to  know  that  time  away  from  him  meant  for  her  only 
existence  in  suspense. 

Very,  very  slowly,  by  degrees  imperceptible,  alone 
with  memories  of  him  and  of  their  summer's  happiness 
already  behind  her,  she  had  learned  that  time  added 
things  to  what  she  had  once  considered  her  full  capacity 
for  affection. 

Alone  with  her  memories  of  him,  at  odd  moments 
during  the  day — often  in  the  gay  clamour  and  crush 
of  the  social  routine — or  driving  with  Nina,  or  lying, 
wide-eyed,  on  her  pillow  at  night,  she  became  conscious 
that  time,  little  by  little,  very  gradually  but  very  surely, 
was  adding  to  her  regard  for  him  frail,  new,  elusive 
elements  that  stole  in  to  awake  an  unquiet  pulse  or  stir 
her  heart  into  a  sudden  thrill,  leaving  it  fluttering, 
and  a  faint  glow  gradually  spreading  through  her 
every  vein. 

She  was  beginning  to  love  him  no  longer  in  her  own 
sweet  fashion,  but  in  his ;  and  she  was  vaguely  aware 

453 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


of  it,  yet  curiously  passive  and  content  to  put  no  ques 
tion  to  herself  whether  it  was  true  or  false.  And  how 
it  might  be  with  him  she  evaded  asking  herself,  too; 
only  the  quickening  of  breath  and  pulse  questioned  the 
pure  thoughts  unvoiced ;  only  the  increasing  impatience 
of  her  suspense  confirmed  the  answer  which  now,  per 
haps,  she  might  give  him  one  day  while  the  blessed 
world  was  young. 

At  the  thought  she  moved  uneasily,  shifting  her  posi 
tion  in  the  chair.  Sunset,  and  the  swift  winter  twilight, 
had  tinted,  then  dimmed,  the  light  in  the  room.  On  the 
oak-beamed  ceiling,  across  the  ivory  rosettes,  a  single 
bar  of  red  sunlight  lay,  broken  by  rafter  and  plaster 
foliation.  She  watched  it  turn  to  rose,  to  ashes.  And, 
closing  her  eyes,  she  lay  very  still  and  motionless  in  the 
gray  shadows  closing  over  all. 

He  had  not  yet  spoken  when  again  she  lifted  her 
eyes  and  saw  him  sitting  in  the  dusk,  one  arm  resting 
across  his  knee,  his  body  bent  slightly  forward,  his  gaze 
vacant. 

Into  himself  again! — silently  companioned  by  the 
shadows  of  old  thoughts;  far  from  her — farther  than 
he  had  ever  been.  For  a  while  she  lay  there,  watching 
him,  scarcely  breathing;  then  a  faint  shiver  of  utter 
loneliness  came  over  her — of  desire  for  his  attention,  his 
voice,  his  friendship,  and  the  expression  of  it.  But  he 
never  moved ;  his  eyes  seemed  dull  and  unseeing ;  his  face 
strangely  gaunt  to  her,  unfamiliar,  hard.  In  the  dim 
light  he  seemed  but  the  ghost  of  what  she  had  known, 
of  what  she  had  thought  him — a  phantom,  growing 
vaguer,  more  unreal,  slipping  away  from  her  through 
the  fading  light.  And  the  impulse  to  arouse  herself  and 
him  from  the  dim  danger — to  arrest  the  spell,  to  break 
it,  and  seize  what  was  their  own  in  life  overwhelmed  her ; 

454 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


and  she  sat  up,  grasping  the  great  arms  of  her  chair, 
slender,  straight,  white-faced  in  the  gloom. 

But  he  did  not  stir.  Then  unreasoning,  instinctive 
fear  confused  her,  and  she  heard  her  own  voice,  sound 
ing  strangely  in  the  twilight: 

"What  has  come  between  us,  Captain  Selwyn? 
What  has  happened  to  us?  Something  is  all  wrong, 
and  I — I  ask  you  what  it  is,  because  I  don't  know. 
TeU  me." 

He  had  lifted  his  head  at  her  first  word,  hesitatingly, 
as  though  dazed. 

"  Could  you  tell  me?  "  she  asked  faintly. 

"TeU  you  what,  child?  " 

"  Why  you  are  so  silent  with  me ;  what  has  crept 
in  between  us  ?  I  " — the  innocent  courage  sustaining 
her — "  I  have  not  changed — except  a  little  in — in  the 
way  you  wished.  Have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  in  an  altered  voice. 

"  Then — what  is  it  ?  I  have  been — you  have  left 
me  so  much  alone  this  winter — and  I  supposed  I  un 
derstood " 

"  My  work,"  he  said ;  but  she  scarcely  knew  the  voice 
for  his. 

"  I  know ;  you  have  had  no  time.  I  know  that ;  I 
ought  to  know  it  by  this  time,  for  I  have  told  myself 
often  enough.  And  yet — when  we  are  together,  it  is — 
it  has  been — different.  Can  you  tell  me  why?  Do  you 
think  me  changed  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  change,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  breathed,  wondering,  "  I  could  not — ex 
cept — a  little,  as  I  told  you." 

"  You  must  not  change — not  even  that  way !  "  he 
repeated  in  a  voice  so  low  she  could  scarcely  hear  him — 
and  believed  she  had  misunderstood  him. 
SO  455 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  I  did  not  hear  you,"  she  said  faintly.  "  What  did 
you  say  to  me?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  it  again." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head,  not  comprehending,  and 
for  a  while  sat  silent,  struggling  with  her  own  thoughts. 
Then,  suddenly  instinct  with  the  subtle  fear  which  had 
driven  her  into  speech: 

"  When  I  said — said  that  to  you — last  summer ; 
when  I  cried  in  the  swinging  seat  there — because  I  could 
not  answer  you — as  I  wished  to — did  that  change  you, 
Captain  Selwyn  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  y-you  are  unchanged?  " 

"  Yes,  Eileen." 

The  first  thrill  of  deep  emotion  struck  through  and 
through  her. 

"  Then — then  that  is  not  it,"  she  faltered.  "  I  was 
afraid — I  have  sometimes  wondered  if  it  was.  ...  I 
am  very  glad,  Captain  Selwyn.  .  .  .  Will  you  wait  a 
— a  little  longer — for  me  to — to  change  ?  " 

He  stood  up  suddenly  in  the  darkness,  and  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  breathless :  for  she  had  caught  the 
low  exclamation,  and  the  strange  sound  that  stifled  it 
in  his  throat. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  stammered,  "  w-what  has  happened. 
D-don't  turn  away  to  the  window;  don't  leave  me  all 
alone  to  endure  this — this  something  I  have  known  was 
drawing  you  away — I  don't  know  where!  What  is  it? 
Could  you  not  tell  me.  Captain  Selwyn  ?  I — I  have  been 
very  frank  with  you ;  I  have  been  truthful — and  loyal. 
I  gave  you,  from  the  moment  I  knew  you,  all  of  me 
there  was  to  give.  And — and  if  there  is  more  to  give 
— now — it  was  yours  when  it  came  to  me. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  too  young  to  know  what  I  am 
456 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


saying?  Solitude  is  a  teacher.  I — I  am  still  a  scholar, 
perhaps,  but  I  think  that  you  could  teach  me  what  my 
drill-master,  Solitude,  could  not  ...  if  it — it  is  true 
you  love  me." 

The  mounting  sea  of  passion  swept  him ;  he  turned 
on  her,  unsteadily,  his  hands  clenched,  not  daring  to 
touch  her.  Shame,  contrition,  horror  that  the  damage 
was  already  done,  all  were  forgotten;  only  the  deadly 
grim  duty  of  the  moment  held  him  back. 

"  Dear,"  he  said,  "  because  I  am  unchanged — because 
I — I  love  you  so — help  me ! — and  God  help  us  both." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  steadily,  but  it  was  fear  that 
stilled  her  voice.  She  laid  one  slim  hand  on  the  table, 
bearing  down  on  the  points  of  her  fingers  until  the 
nails  whitened,  but  her  head  was  high  and  her  eyes 
met  his,  straight,  unwavering. 

"  I — I  knew  it,"  she  said ;  "  I  understood  there  was 
something.  If  it  is  trouble — and  I  see  it  is — bring  it 
to  me.  If  I  am  the  woman  you  took  me  for,  give  me 
my  part  in  this.  It  is  the  quickest  way  to  my  heart, 
Captain  Selwyn." 

But  he  had  grown  afraid,  horribly  afraid.  All  the 
cowardice  in  him  was  in  the  ascendant.  But  that  passed ; 
watching  his  worn  face,  she  saw  it  passing.  Fear 
clutched  at  her;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  de 
sired  to  go  to  him,  hold  fast  to  him,  seeking  in  contact 
the  reassurance  of  his  strength;  but  she  only  stood 
straighter,  a  little  paler,  already  half  divining  in  the 
clairvoyance  of  her  young  soul  what  lay  still  hidden. 

"  Do  you  ask  a  part  in  this  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  I  ask  it." 

"Why?" 

Her  eyes  wavered,  then  returned  his  gaze: 

"  For  love  of  you,"  she  said,  as  white  as  death. 
457 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


He  caught  his  breath  sharply  and  straightened  out, 
passing  one  hand  across  his  eyes.  When  she  saw  his 
face  again  in  the  dim  light  it  was  ghastly. 

"  There  was  a  woman,"  he  said,  "  for  whom  I  was 
once  responsible."  He  spoke  wearily,  head  bent,  resting 
the  weight  of  one  arm  on  the  table  against  which  she 
leaned.  "  Do  you  understand  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.    You  mean — Mrs.  Ruthven." 

"  I  mean — her.  Afterward — when  matters  had  al 
tered — I  came — home." 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him  in  the 
darkness. 

"  Came  home,"  he  repeated,  "  no  longer  a  man ;  the 
shadow  of  a  man,  with  no  hope,  no  outlook,  no  right 
to  hope." 

He  leaned  heavily  on  the  table,  his  arm  rigid,  looking 
down  at  the  floor  as  he  spoke. 

"  No  right  to  hope.  Others  told  me  that  I  still  pos 
sessed  that  right.  I  knew  they  were  wrong;  I  do  not 
mean  that  they  persuaded  me — I  persuaded  myself  that, 
after  all,  perhaps  my  right  to  hope  remained  to  me.  I 
persuaded  myself  that  I  might  be,  after  all,  the  sub 
stance,  not  the  shadow." 

He  looked  up  at  her: 

"  And  so  I  dared  to  love  you." 

She  gazed  at  him,  scarcely  breathing. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  came  the  awakening.  My  dream 
had  ended." 

She  waited,  the  lace  on  her  breast  scarce  stirring, 
so  still  she  stood,  so  pitifully  still. 

"  Such  responsibility  cannot  die  while  those  live  who 
undertook  it.  I  believed  it  until  I  desired  to  believe  it 
no  longer.  But  a  man's  self -persuasion  cannot  alter 
such  laws — nor  can  human  laws  confirm  or  nullify  them, 

458 


HIS   OWN   WAY 


nor  can  a  great  religion  do  more  than  admit  their  truth, 
basing  its  creed  upon  such  laws.  .  .  .  No  man  can  put 
asunder,  no  laws  of  man  undo  the  burden.  .  .  .  And, 
to  my  shame  and  disgrace,  I  have  had  to  relearn  this 
after  offering  you  a  love  I  had  no  right  to  offer — a 
life  which  is  not  my  own  to  give." 

He  took  one  step  toward  her,  and  his  voice  fell  so 
low  that  she  could  just  hear  him: 

"  She  has  lost  her  mind,  and  the  case  is  hopeless. 
Those  to  whom  the  laws  of  the  land  have  given  care  of 
her  turned  on  her,  threatened  her  with  disgrace.  And 
when  one  friend  of  hers  halted  this  miserable  conspiracy, 
her  malady  came  swiftly  upon  her,  and  suddenly  she 
found  herself  helpless,  penniless,  abandoned,  her  mind 
already  clouded,  and  clouding  faster !  .  .  .  Eileen,  was 
there  then  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  the  responsibility  ? 
Because  a  man's  son  was  named  in  the  parable,  does  the 
lesson  end  there — and  are  there  no  others  as  prodigal — 
no  other  bonds  that  hold  as  inexorably  as  the  bond  of 
love  ? 

"  Men — a  lawyer  or  two — a  referee — decided  to  re 
move  a  burden ;  but  a  higher  court  has  replaced  it." 

He  came  and  stood  directly  before  her : 

"I  dare  not  utter  one  word  of  love  to  you;  I  dare 
not  touch  you.  What  chance  is  there  for  such  a  man 
as  I?" 

"  No  chance — for  us,"  sha.;whispered.     "  Go !  " 

For  a  second  he  stood  motionless,  then,  swaying 
slightly,  turned  on  his  heel. 

And  long  after  he  had  left  the  house  she  still  stood 
there,  eyes  closed,  colourless  lips  set,  her  slender  body 
quivering,  racked  with  the  first  fierce  grief  of  a  woman's 
love  for  a  man. 


459 


CHAPTER    XII 


HER    WAY 


own  wealth  permitted 
lessness  that   so  fre- 


NEERGARD  had  already  begun  to  make  mistakes. 
The  first  was  in  thinking  that,  among  those  whose  only 
distinction  was  their  wealth, 
him  the  same  insolence  and  r 
quently  characterised  them. 

Clever,  vindictively  patien 
mercially  competent  as  he  had 
not   of  a   high  order.     The 
make  enemies ;  Neergard  m 
cally   kicking  from   under 
mounting  the  breach,  a 
needed  as  a  scaffolding 
hold  on  the  outer  wa 
pensed  with  Gerald; 


Harmon  out  of 
chase  of   Neerga 
preserve,  and  its 
of  the  club  tract 
self  of  Ruthven 


circumspect,  and  corn- 
en,  his  intelligence  was 
telligent  never  wilfully 
them  gratuitously,  cyni- 
\  the  props  he  used  in 
n^f^incied  he  no  longer 
at  he  had  obtained  a  f  oot- 
us  he  had  sneeringly  dis- 
had  shouldered  Fane  and 
en  they  objected  to  the  pur- 
age   adjoining   the    Siowitha 
ation  as  an  integral  portion 


was  preparing  to  rid  him- 
inother  reason.  But  he  was  not 
yet  quite  ready  to  spurn  Ruthven,  because  he  wanted 
a  little  more  out  of  him — just  enough  to  place  himself 
on  a  secure  footing  among  those  of  the  younger  set 
where  Ruthven,  as  hack  cotillon  leader,  was  regarded 
by  the  young  with  wide-eyed  awe. 

Why   Neergard,  who  had  forced  himself  into   the 
460 


HER    WAY 


Siowitha,  ever  came  to  commit  so  gross  a  blunder  as  to 
dragoon,  or  even  permit,  the  club  to  acquire  the  acreage, 
the  exploiting  of  which  had  threatened  their  existence, 
is  not  very  clear. 

Once  within  the  club  he  may  have  supposed  himself 
perpetually  safe,  not  only  because  of  his  hold  on  Ruth- 
ven,  but  also  because,  back  of  his  unflagging  persist 
ence,  back  of  his  determination  to  shoulder  and  push 
deep  into  the  gilded,  perfumed  crush  where  purse-strings 
and  morals  were  loosened  with  every  heave  and  twist  in 
the  panting  struggle  around  the  raw  gold  altar — back 
of  the  sordid  past,  back  of  all  the  resentment,  and  the 
sinister  memory  of  wrongs  and  grievances,  still  unbal 
anced,  lay  an  enormous  vanity. 

It  was  the  vanity  in  him — even  in  the  bitter  days — 
that  throbbed  with  the  agony  of  the  bright  world's  in 
solence;  it  was  vanity  which  sustained  him  in  better 
days  where  he  sat  nursing  in  his  crooked  mind  the 
crooked  thoughts  that  swarmed  there.  His  desire  for 
position  and  power  was  that;  even  his  yearning  for 
corruption  was  but  the  desire  for  the  satiation  of  a 
vanity  as  monstrous  as  it  was  passionless.  His  to  have 
what  was  shared  by  those  he  envied — the  power  to  pick 
and  choose,  to  ignore,  to  punish.  His  to  receive,  not 
to  seek;  to  dispense,  not  to  stand  waiting  for  his  por 
tion  ;  his  the  freedom  of  the  forbidden,  of  everything 
beyond  him,  of  all  withheld,  denied  by  this  bright,  loose- 
robed,  wanton-eyed  goddess  from  whose  invisible  altar 
he  had  caught  a  whiff  of  sacrificial  odours,  standing 
there  through  the  wintry  years  in  the  squalor  and  reek 
of  things. 

Now  he  had  arrived  among  those  outlying  camps 
where  camp-followers  and  masters  mingled.  Certain 
card-rooms  were  open  to  him,  certain  drawing-rooms, 

461 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


certain  clubs.  Through  them  he  shouldered,  thrilled 
as  he  advanced  deeper  into  the  throng,  fired  with  the 
contact  of  the  crush  around  him. 

Already  the  familiarity  of  his  appearance  and  his 
name  seemed  to  sanction  his  presence;  two  minor 
clubs,  but  good  ones — in  need  of  dues — had  strained 
at  this  social  camel  and  swallowed  him.  Card-rooms 
welcomed  him — not  the  rooms  once  flung  open  con 
temptuously  for  his  plucking — but  rooms  where  play 
was  fiercer,  and  where  those  who  faced  him  expected 
battle  to  the  limit. 

And  they  got  it,  for  he  no  longer  felt  obliged  to 
lose.  And  that  again  was  a  mistake:  he  could  not  yet 
afford  to  win. 

Thick  in  the  chance  and  circumstance  of  the  outer 
camp,  heavily  involved  financially  and  already  a  crush 
ing  financial  force,  meshed  in,  or  spinning  in  his  turn 
the  strands  and  counter-strands  of  intrigue,  with  a 
dozen  men  already  mortally  offended  and  a  woman  or 
two  alarmed  or  half -contemptuously  on  guard,  flattered, 
covetous,  or  afraid,  the  limit  of  Neergard's  intelli 
gence  was  reached ;  his  present  horizon  ended  the  world 
for  him  because  he  could  not  imagine  anything  beyond 
it;  and  that  smirking  vanity  which  had  'squired  him 
so  far,  hat  in  hand,  now  plucked  off  its  mask  and  leered 
boldly  about  in  the  wake  of  its  close-eyed  master. 

George  Fane,  unpleasantly  involved  in  Block  Cop 
per,  angry,  but  not  very  much  frightened,  turned  in 
casual  good  faith  to  Neergard  to  ease  matters  until  he 
could  cover.  And  Neergard  locked  him  in  the  tighter 
and  shouldered  his  way  through  Rosamund's  drawing- 
room  to  the  sill  of  Sanxon  Orchil's  outer  office,  treading 
brutally  on  Harmon's  heels. 

Harmon  in  disgust,  wrath,  and  fear  went  to  Craig ; 
462 


HER    WAY 


Craig  to  Maxwell  Hunt ;  Hunt  wired  Mottly ;  Mot- 
tly,  cold  and  sleek  in  his  contempt,  came  from  Palm 
Beach. 

The  cohesive  power  of  caste  is  an  unknown  element 
to  the  outsider. 

That  he  had  unwittingly  and  prematurely  aroused 
some  unsuspected  force  on  which  he  had  not  counted  and 
of  which  he  had  no  definite  knowledge  was  revealed  to 
Neergard  when  he  desired  Rosamund  to  obtain  for  him 
an  invitation  to  the  Orchils'  ball. 

It  appeared  that  she  could  not  do  so — that  even  the 
threatened  tendency  of  Block  Copper  could  not  sharpen 
her  wits  to  devise  a  way  for  him.  Very  innocently  she 
told  him  that  Jack  Ruthven  was  leading  the  Chinese 
Cotillon  with  Mrs.  Delmour-Carnes  from  one  end,  Ger 
ald  Erroll  with  Gladys  from  the  other — a  hint  that 
a  card  ought  to  be  easy  enough  to  obtain  in  spite  of  the 
strangely  forgetful  Orchils. 

Long  since  he  had  fixed  upon  Gladys  Orchil  as  the 
most  suitable  silent  partner  for  the  unbuilt  house  of 
Neergard,  unconcerned  that  rumour  was  already  send 
ing  her  abroad  for  the  double  purpose  of  getting  rid 
of  Gerald  and  of  giving  deserving  aristocracy  a  look-in 
at  the  fresh  youth  of  her  and  her  selling  price. 

Nothing,  so  far,  had  checked  his  progress;  why 
should  rumour?  Elbow  and  money  had  shoved  him  on 
and  on,  shoulder-deep  where  his  thin  nose  pointed, 
crowding  aside  and  out  of  his  way  whatever  was  made 
to  be  crowded  out ;  and  going  around,  hat  off,  whatever 
remained  arrogantly  immovable. 

So  he  had  come,  on  various  occasions,  close  to  the 
unruffled  skirts  of  this  young  girl — not  yet,  however, 
in  her  own  house.  But  Sanxon  Orchil  had  recently  con 
descended  to  turn  around  in  his  office  chair  and  leave 

463 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


his  amusing  railroad  combinations  long  enough  to  di 
vide  with  Neergard  a  quarter  of  a  million  copper  profits ; 
and  there  was  another  turn  to  be  expected  when  Neer 
gard  gave  the  word. 

Therefore,  it  puzzled  and  confused  Neergard  to  be 
overlooked  where  the  gay  world  had  been  summoned  with 
an  accompanying  blast  from  the  public  press ;  therefore 
he  had  gone  to  Rosamund  with  the  curtest  of  hints ;  but 
he  had  remained,  standing  before  her,  checked,  not  con 
descending  to  irritation,  but  mentally  alert  to  a  new 
element  of  resistance  which  he  had  not  expected — a  new 
force,  palpable,  unlocked  for,  unclassified  as  yet  in  his 
schedule  for  his  life's  itinerary.  That  force  was  the 
cohesive  power  of  abstract  caste  in  the  presence  of  a 
foreign  irritant  threatening  its  atomic  disintegration. 
That  foreign  and  irritating  substance  was  himself. 
But  he  had  forgotten  in  his  vanity  that  which  in  his 
rawer  shrewdness  he  should  have  remembered.  Eternal 
vigilance  was  the  price;  not  the  cancelled  vouchers  of 
the  servitude  of  dead  years  and  the  half-servile  chal 
lenge  of  the  strange  new  days  when  his  vanity  had 
dared  him  to  live. 

Rosamund,  smoothly  groomed,  golden-headed,  and 
smiling,  rose  as  Neergard  moved  slowly  forward  to  take 
his  leave. 

"  So  stupid  of  them  to  have  overlooked  you,"  she 
said ;  "  and  I  should  have  thought  Gladys  would  have 
remembered — unless " 

His  close-set  eyes  focussed  so  near  her  own  that  she 
stopped,  involuntarily  occupied  with  the  unusual  phe 
nomenon. 

"  Unless  what?  "  he  asked. 

She  was  all  laughing  polished  surface  again.  "  Un- 
464 


HER    WAY 


less  Gladys's  intellect,  which  has  only  room  for  one  idea 
at  a  time,  is  already  fully  occupied." 

"  With  what?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  with  that  Gerald  boy  " — she  shrugged  indul 
gently — "  perhaps  with  her  pretty  American  Grace 
and  the  outlook  for  the  Insular  invasion." 

Neergard's  apple  face  was  dull  and  mottled,  and  on 
the  thin  bridge  of  his  nose  the  sweat  glistened.  He  did 
not  know  what  she  meant ;  and  she  knew  he  did  not. 

As  he  turned  to  go  she  paced  him  a  step  or  two 
across  the  rose-and-gold  reception-room,  hands  linked 
behind  her  back,  bending  forward  slightly  as  she  moved 
beside  him. 

"  Gerald,  poor  lad,  is  to  be  disciplined,"  she  observed. 
"  The  prettiest  of  American  duchesses  takes  her  over 
next  spring;  and  Heaven  knows  the  household  cavalry 
needs  green  forage.  .  .  .  Besides,  even  Jack  Ruthven 
may  stand  the  chance  they  say  he  stands  if  it  is  true  he 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  sue  for  his  divorce." 

Neergard  wheeled  on  her ;  the  sweat  on  his  nose  had 
become  a  bright  bead. 

"  Where  did  you  hear  that?  "  he  asked. 

"What?  About  Jack  Ruthven?"  Her  smooth 
shoulders  fluttered  her  answer. 

"  You  mean  it's  talked  about  ?  "  he  insisted. 

"  In  some  sets,"  she  said  with  an  indifference  which 
coolly  excluded  the  probability  that  he  could  have 
been  in  any  position  to  hear  what  was  discussed  in 
those  sets. 

Again  he  felt  the  check  of  something  intangible  but 
real;  and  the  vanity  in  him,  flicked  on  the  raw,  peered 
out  at  her  from  his  close-set  eyes.  For  a  moment  he 
measured  her  from  the  edge  of  her  skirt  to  her  golden 
head,  insolently. 

465 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  You  might  remind  your  husband,"  he  said,  "  that 
I'd  rather  like  to  have  a  card  to  the  Orchil  affair." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  speaking  to  George,"  she  re 
plied  regretfully,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Try  it,"  returned  Neergard  with  the  hint  of  a 
snarl;  and  he  took  his  leave,  and  his  hat  from  the  man 
in  waiting,  who  looked  after  him  with  the  slightest 
twitching  of  his  shaven  upper  lip.  For  the  lifting  of 
an  eyebrow  in  the  drawing-rooms  becomes  warrant  for 
a  tip  that  runs  very  swiftly  below  stairs. 

That  afternoon,  alone  in  his  office,  Neergard  remem 
bered  Gerald.  And  for  the  first  time  he  understood  the 
mistake  of  making  an  enemy  out  of  what  he  had  known 
only  as  a  friendly  fool. 

But  it  was  a  detail,  after  all — merely  a  slight  error 
in  assuming  too  early  an  arrogance  he  could  have 
afforded  to  wait  for.  He  had  waited  a  long,  long  while 
for  some  things. 

As  for  Fane,  he  had  him  locked  up  with  his  short 
account.  No  doubt  he'd  hear  from  the  Orchils  through 
the  Fanes.  However,  to  clinch  the  matter,  he  thought 
he  might  as  well  stop  in  to  see  Ruthven.  A  plain  word 
or  two  to  Ruthven  indicating  his  own  wishes — perhaps 
outlining  his  policy  concerning  the  future  house  of 
Neergard — might  as  well  be  delivered  now  as  later. 

So  that  afternoon  he  took  a  hansom  at  Broad  and 
Wall  streets  and  rolled  smoothly  uptown,  not  seriously 
concerned,  but  willing  to  have  a  brief  understanding 
with  Ruthven  on  one  or  two  subjects. 

As  his  cab  drove  up  to  the  intricately  ornamental 
little  house  of  gray  stone,  a  big  touring  limousine 
wheeled  out  from  the  curb,  and  he  caught  sight  of 
Sanxon  Orchil  and  Phoenix  Mottly  inside,  evidently  just 
leaving  Ruthven. 

466 


HER    WAY 


His  smiling  and  very  cordial  bow  was  returned 
coolly  by  Orchil,  and  apparently  not  observed  at  all  by 
Mottly.  He  sat  a  second  in  his  cab,  motionless,  the 
obsequious  smile  still  stencilled  on  his  flushed  face ;  then 
the  flush  darkened ;  he  got  out  of  his  cab  and,  bidding 
the  man  wait,  rang  at  the  house  of  Ruthven. 

Admitted,  it  was  a  long  while  before  he  was  asked 
to  mount  the  carved  stairway  of  stone.  And  when  he 
did,  on  every  step,  hand  on  the  bronze  rail,  he  had  the 
same  curious  sense  of  occult  resistance  to  his  physical 
progress ;  the  same  instinct  of  a  new  element  arising 
into  the  scheme  of  things  the  properties  of  which  he 
felt  a  sudden  fierce  desire  to  test  and  comprehend. 

Ruthven  in  a  lounging  suit  of  lilac  silk,  sashed  in 
with  flexible  silver,  stood  with  his  back  to  the  door  as 
Xeergard  was  announced;  and  even  after  he  was  an 
nounced  Ruthven  took  his  time  to  turn  and  stare  and 
nod  with  a  deliberate  negligence  that  accented  the 
affront. 

Neergard  sat  down ;  Ruthven  gazed  out  of  the  win 
dow,  then,  soft  thumbs  hooked  in  his  sash,  turned 
leisurely  in  impudent  interrogation. 

"What  the  hell  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked 
Neergard,  for  the  subtle  something  he  had  been  en 
countering  all  day  had  suddenly  seemed  to  wall  him  out 
of  all  he  had  conquered,  forcing  him  back  into  the  sim 
pler  sordid  territory  where  ways  and  modes  of  speech 
were  more  familiar  to  him — where  the  spontaneous 
crudity  of  expression  belonged  among  the  husks  of  all 
he  had  supposed  discarded  for  ever. 

"  Really,"  observed  Ruthven,  staring  at  the  seated 
man,  "  I  scarcely  understand  your  remark." 

"  Well,  you'll  understand  it  perhaps  when  I  choose 
to  explain  it,"  said  Neergard.  "  I  see  there's  some 

467 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


trouble  somewhere.  What  is  it?  What's  the  matter 
with  Orchil,  and  that  hatchet-faced  beagle-pup,  Mottly  ? 
7*  there  anything  the  matter,  Jack?  " 

"  Nothing  important,"  said  Ruthven  with  an  into 
nation  which  troubled  Neergard.  "  Did  you  come  here 
to — ah — ask  anything  of  me?  Very  glad  to  do  any 
thing,  I'm  sure." 

"Are  you?  Well,  then,  I  want  a  card  to  the 
Orchils'."  " 

Ruthven  raised  his  brows  slightly;  and  Neergard 
waited,  then  repeated  his  demand. 

Ruthven  began  to  explain,  rather  languidly,  that  it 
was  impossible ;  but — "  I  want  it,"  insisted  the  other 
doggedly. 

"  I  can't  be  of  any  service  to  you  in  this  instance." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  you  can.  I  tell  you  I  want  that 
card.  Do  you  understand  plain  speech?  " 

"  Ya-as,"  drawled  Ruthven,  seating  himself  a  trifle 
wearily  among  his  cushions,  "  but  yours  is  so — ah — 
very  plain — quite  elemental,  you  know.  You  ask  for  a 
bid  to  the  Orchils';  I  tell  you  quite  seriously  I  can't 
secure  one  for  you." 

"  You'd  better  think  it  over,"  said  Neergard  menac 
ingly. 

"  Awfully  sorry." 

"  You  mean  you  won't?  " 

"  Ah— quite  so." 

Neergard's  thin  nose  grew  white  and  tremulous : 

"Why?" 

"  You  insist  ?  "  in  mildly  bored  deprecation. 

"  Yes,  I  insist.  Why  can't  you — or  why  won't 
you?" 

"  Well,  if  you  really  insist,  they — ah — don't  want 
you,  Neergard." 

468 


HER    WAY 


"  Who — why — how  do  you  happen  to  know  that 
they  don't  ?  Is  this  some  petty  spite  of  that  young  cub, 
Gerald?  Or  " — and  he  almost  looked  at  Ruthven — "  is 
this  some  childish  whim  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  really  now " 

"  Yes,  really  now,"  sneered  Neergard,  "  you'd  bet 
ter  tell  me.  And  you'd  better  understand,  now,  once 
for  all,  just  exactly  what  I've  outlined  for  myself — so 
you  can  steer  clear  of  the  territory  I  operate  in."  He 
clasped  his  blunt  fingers  and  leaned  forward,  project 
ing  his  whole  body,  thick  legs  curled  under;  but  his 
close-set  eyes  still  looked  past  Ruthven. 

"  I  need  a  little  backing,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can  get 
along  without  it.  And  what  I'm  going  to  do  is  to  marry 
Miss  Orchil.  Now  you  know ;  now  you  understand.  I 
don't  care  a  damn  about  the  Erroll  boy ;  and  I  think 
I'll  discount  right  now  any  intentions  of  any  married 
man  to  bother  Miss  Orchil  after  some  Dakota  decree 
frees  him  from  the  woman  whom  he's  driven  into  an 
asylum." 

Ruthven  looked  at  him  curiously : 

"  So  that  is  discounted,  is  it?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  nodded  Neergard.  "  I  don't  think 
that  man  will  try  to  obtain  a  divorce  until  I  say  the 
word." 

"Oh!    Why  not?" 

"  Because  of  my  knowledge  concerning  that  man's 
crooked  methods  in  obtaining  for  me  certain  options 
that  meant  ruin  to  his  own  country  club,"  said  Neer 
gard  coolly. 

"  I  see.  How  extraordinary !  But  the  club  has 
bought  in  all  that  land,  hasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes — but  the  stench  of  your  treachery  remains, 
my  friend." 

469 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Not  treachery,  only  temptation,"  observed  Ruth- 
ven  blandly.  "  I've  talked  it  all  over  with  Orchil  and 
Mottly " 

"  You — what !  "  gasped  Neergard. 

"  Talked  about  it,"  repeated  Ruthven,  hard  face 
guileless,  and  raising  his  eyebrows — a  dreadful  carica 
ture  of  youth  in  the  misleading  smoothness  of  the 
minutely  shaven  face ;  "  I  told  Orchil  what  you  per 
suaded  me  to  do " 

"  You — you  damned " 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all !  "  protested  Ruthven,  lan 
guidly  settling  himself  once  more  among  the  cushions. 
"  And  by  the  way,"  he  added,  "  there's  a  law — by-law 
— something  or  other,  that  I  understand  may  interest 
you  " — he  looked  up  at  Neergard,  who  had  sunk  back 
in  his  chair — "  about  unpaid  assessments " 

Neergard  now  for  the  first  time  was  looking  directly 
at  him. 

"  Unpaid  assessments,"  repeated  Ruthven.  "  It's  a 
detail — a  law — never  enforced  unless  we — ah — find  it 
convenient  to  rid  ourselves  of  a  member.  It's  rather 
useful,  you  see,  in  such  a  case — a  technical  pretext,  you 
know.  ...  I  forget  the  exact  phrasing;  something 
about  '  ceases  to  retain  his  membership,  and  such  shares 
of  stock  as  he  may  own  in  the  said  club  shall  be  ap 
praised  and  delivered  to  the  treasurer  upon  receipt  of 
the  value  ' — or  something  like  that." 

Still  Neergard  looked  at  him,  hunched  up  in  his 
chair,  chin  sunk  on  his  chest. 

"  Thought  it  just  as  well  to  mention  it,"  said  Ruth 
ven  blandly,  "  as  they've  seen  fit  to  take  advantage  of 
the — ah — opportunity — under  legal  advice.  You'll  hear 
from  the  secretary,  I  fancy — Mottly,  you  know.  .  .  . 
Is  there  anything  more,  Neergard?  " 

470 


HER    WAY 


Neergard  scarcely  heard  him.  He  had  listened, 
mechanically,  when  told  in  as  many  words  that  he  had 
been  read  out  of  the  Siowitha  Club ;  he  understood  that 
he  stood  alone,  discarded,  disgraced,  with  a  certain  small 
coterie  of  wealthy  men  implacably  hostile  to  him.  But 
it  was  not  that  which  occupied  him :  he  was  face  to  face 
with  the  new  element  of  which  he  had  known  nothing — 
the  subtle,  occult  resistance  to  himself  and  his  person 
ality,  all  that  he  represented,  embodied,  stood  for, 
hoped  for. 

And  for  the  first  time  he  realised  that  among,  the 
ruthless,  no  ruthlessness  was  permitted  him ;  among 
the  reckless,  circumspection  had  been  required  of  him ; 
no  arrogance,  no  insolence  had  been  permitted  him 
among  the  arrogant  and  insolent ;  for,  when  such  as  he 
turned  threateningly  upon  one  of  those  belonging  to 
that  elemental  matrix  of  which  he  dared  suppose  him 
self  an  integral  part,  he  found  that  he  was  mistaken. 
Danger  to  one  from  such  as  he  endangered  their  com 
mon  caste — such  as  it  was.  And,  silently,  subtly,  all 
through  that  portion  of  the  social  fabric,  he  became 
slowly  sensible  of  resistance — resistance  everywhere, 
from  every  quarter. 

Now,  hunched  up  there  in  his  chair,  he  began  to 
understand.  If  Ruthven  had  been  a  blackguard — it 
was  not  for  him  to  punish  him — no,  not  even  threaten 
to  expose  him.  His  own  caste  would  take  care  of  that ; 
his  own  sort  would  manage  such  affairs.  Meanwhile 
Neergard  had  presumed  to  annoy  them,  and  the  society 
into  which  he  had  forced  himself  and  which  he  had 
digestively  affected,  was  now,  squid-like,  slowly  turning 
itself  inside  out  to  expel  him  as  a  foreign  substance 
from  which  such  unimportant  nutrition  as  he  had 
afforded  had  been  completely  extracted. 
31  471 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


He  looked  at  Ruthven,  scarcely  seeing  him.  Finally 
he  gathered  his  thick  legs  under  to  support  him  as  he 
rose,  stupidly,  looking  about  for  his  hat. 

Ruthven  rang  for  a  servant;  when  he  came  Neer- 
gard  followed  him  without  a  word,  small  eyes  vacant, 
the  moisture  powdering  the  ridge  of  his  nose,  his  red 
blunt  hands  dangling  as  he  walked.  Behind  him  a 
lackey  laughed. 

In  due  time  Neergard,  who  still  spent  his  penny  on 
a  morning  paper,  read  about  the  Orchil  ball.  There 
were  three  columns  and  several  pictures.  He  read  all 
there  was  to  read  about — the  sickeningly  minute  details 
of  jewels  and  costumes,  the  sorts  of  stuffs  served  at  sup 
per,  the  cotillon,  the  favours — then,  turning  back,  he 
read  about  the  dozen-odd  separate  hostesses  who  had 
entertained  the  various  coteries  and  sets  at  separate 
dinners  before  the  ball — read  every  item,  every  name, 
to  the  last  imbecile  period. 

Then  he  rose  wearily,  and  started  downtown  to  see 
what  his  lawyers  could  do  toward  reinstating  him  in  a 
club  that  had  expelled  him — to  find  out  if  there  remained 
the  slightest  trace  of  a  chance  in  the  matter.  But  even 
as  he  went  he  knew  there  could  be  none.  The  squid  had 
had  its  will  with  him,  not  he  with  the  squid ;  and  within 
him  rose  again  all  the  old  hatred  and  fear  of  these 
people  from  whom  he  had  desired  to  extract  full  pay 
ment  for  the  black  days  of  need  he  had  endured,  for 
the  want,  the  squalor,  the  starvation  he  had  passed 
through. 

But  the  reckoning  left  him  where  he  had  started — 
save  for  the  money  they  had  used  when  he  forced  it  on 
them — not  thanking  him. 

So  he  went  to  his  lawyers — every  day  for  a  while, 
472 


HER    WAY 


then  every  week,  then,  toward  the  end  of  winter,  less 
often,  for  he  had  less  time  now,  and  there  was  a  new 
pressure  which  he  was  beginning  to  feel  vaguely  hostile 
to  him  in  his  business  enterprises — hitches  in  the  nego 
tiations  of  loans,  delays,  perhaps  accidental,  but  annoy 
ing;  changes  of  policy  in  certain  firms  who  no  longer 
cared  to  consider  acreage  as  investment ;  and  a  curiously 
veiled  antagonism  to  him  in  a  certain  railroad,  the  re 
organisation  of  which  he  had  dared  once  to  aspire  to. 

And  one  day,  sitting  alone  in  his  office,  a  clerk 
brought  him  a  morning  paper  with  one  column  marked 
in  a  big  blue-pencilled  oval. 

It  was  only  about  a  boy  and  a  girl  who  had  run 
away  and  married  because  they  happened  to  be  in  love, 
although  their  parents  had  prepared  other  plans  for 
their  separate  disposal.  The  column  was  a  full  one,  the 
heading  in  big  type — a  good  deal  of  pother  about  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  after  all,  particularly  as  it  appeared  that 
their  respective  families  had  determined  to  make  the  best 
of  it.  Besides,  the  girl's  parents  had  other  daughters 
growing  up ;  and  the  prettiest  of  American  duchesses 
would  no  doubt  remain  amiable.  As  for  the  household 
cavalry,  probably  some  of  them  were  badly  in  need  of 
forage,  but  that  thin  red  line  could  hold  out  until  the 
younger  sisters  shed  pinafores.  So,  after  all,  in  spite 
of  double  leads  and  the  full  column,  the  runaways  could 
continue  their  impromptu  honeymoon  without  fear  of 
parents,  duchess,  or  a  rescue  charge  from  that  thin,  red, 
and  impecunious  line. 

It  took  Neergard  all  day  to  read  that  column  before 
he  folded  it  away  and  pigeonholed  it  among  a  lot  »f 
dusty  documents — uncollected  claims,  a  memorandum  of 
a  deal  with  Ruthven,  a  note  from  an  actress,  and  the 

473 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


papers  in  his  case  against  the  Siowitha  Club  which 
would  never  come  to  a  suit — he  knew  it  now — never 
amount  to  anything.  So  among  these  archives  of  dead 
desires,  dead  hopes,  and  of  vengeance  deferred  sine  die, 
he  laid  away  the  soiled  newspaper. 

Then  he  went  home,  very  tired  with  a  mental  lassitude 
that  depressed  him  and  left  him  drowsy  in  his  great 
arm-chair  before  the  grate — too  drowsy  and  apathetic 
to  examine  the  letters  and  documents  laid  out  for  him 
by  his  secretary,  although  one  of  them  seemed  to  be 
important — something  about  alienation  of  affections, 
something  about  a  yacht  and  Mrs.  Ruthven,  and  a  heavy 
suit  to  be  brought  unless  other  settlement  was  sug 
gested  as  a  balm  to  Mr.  Ruthven. 

To  dress  for  dinner  was  an  effort — a  purely  me 
chanical  operation  which  was  only  partly  successful, 
although  his  man  aided  him.  But  he  was  too  tired  to 
continue  the  effort ;  and  at  last  it  was  his  man  alone  who 
disembarrassed  him  of  his  heavy  clothing  and  who  laid 
him  among  the  bedclothes,  where  he  sank  back,  relaxed, 
breathing  loudly  in  the  dreadful  depressed  stupor  of 
utter  physical  and  neurotic  prostration. 

Meaningless  to  him  the  hurriedly  intrusive  attor 
neys — his  own  and  Ruthven's — who  forced  their  way  in 
that  night — or  was  it  the  next,  or  months  later?  A 
weight  like  the  weight  of  death  lay  on  him,  mind  and 
body.  If  he  comprehended  what  threatened,  what  was 
coming,  he  did  not  care.  The  world  passed  on,  leaving 
him  lying  there,  nerveless,  exhausted,  a  derelict  on  a  sea 
too  stormy  for  such  as  he — a  wreck  that  might  have 
sailed  safely  in  narrower  waters. 

And  some  day  he'd  be  patched  up  and  set  afloat  once 
more  to  cruise  and  operate  and  have  his  being  in  the 
safer  and  smaller  seas ;  some  day,  when  the  nerve  crash 

474 


HER    WAY 


had  subsided  and  the  slow,  wounded  mind  came  back  to 
itself,  and  its  petty  functions  were  once  more  resumed 
— its  envious  scheming,  its  covetous  capability,  its  vi 
cious  achievement.  For  with  him  achievement  could  em 
body  only  the  meaner  imitations  of  the  sheer  colossal 
coups  by  which  the  great  financiers  gutted  a  nation  with 
kid-gloved  fingers,  and  changed  their  gloves  after  the 
operation  so  that  no  blood  might  stick  to  Peter's  pence 
or  smear  the  corner-stones  of  those  vast  and  shadowy 
institutions  upreared  in  restitution — black  silhouettes 
against  the  infernal  sunset  of  lives  that  end  in  the 
shadowy  death  of  souls. 

Even  before  Neergard's  illness  Ruthven's  domestic 
and  financial  affairs  were  in  a  villainous  mess.  Rid  of 
Neergard,  he  had  meant  to  deal  him  a  crashing  blow  at 
the  breakaway  which  would  settle  him  for  ever  and  inci 
dentally  bring  to  a  crisis  his  own  status  in  regard  to 
his  wife. 

Whether  or  not  his  wife  was  mentally  competent  he 
did  not  know ;  he  did  not  know  anything  about  her. 
But  he  meant  to.  Selwyn's  threat,  still  fairly  fresh  in 
his  memory,  had  given  him  no  definite  idea  of  Alixe,  her 
whereabouts,  her  future  plans,  and  whether  or  not  her 
mental  condition  was  supposed  to  be  permanently  im 
paired  or  otherwise. 

That  she  had  been,  and  probably  now  was,  under 
Selwyn's  protection  he  believed;  what  she  and  Selwyn 
intended  to  do  he  did  not  know.  But  he  wanted  to 
know ;  he  dared  not  ask  Selwyn — dared  not,  because  he 
was  horribly  afraid  of  Selwyn ;  dared  not  yet  make  a 
legal  issue  of  their  relations,  of  her  sequestration,  or 
of  her  probable  continued  infirmity,  because  of  his 
physical  fear  of  the  man. 

475 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


But  there  was — or  he  thought  that  there  had  been — 
one  way  to  begin  the  matter,  because  the  matter  must 
sooner  or  later  be  begun:  and  that  was  to  pretend  to 
assume  Neergard  responsible;  and,  on  the  strength  of 
his  wife's  summer  sojourn  aboard  the  Niobrara,  turn 
on  Neergard  and  demand  a  reckoning  which  he  believed 
Selwyn  would  never  hear  of,  because  he  did  not  suppose 
Neergard  dared  defend  the  suit,  and  would  sooner  or 
later  compromise.  Which  would  give  him  what  he 
wanted  to  begin  with,  money,  and  the  entering  wedge 
against  the  wife  he  meant  to  be  rid  of  in  one  way  or 
another,  even  if  he  had  to  swear  out  a  warrant  against 
Selwyn  before  he  demanded  a  commission  to  investigate 
her  mental  condition. 

Ruthven  was  too  deadly  afraid  of  Selwyn  to  begin 
suit  at  that  stage  of  the  proceedings.  All  he  could  do 
was  to  start,  through  his  attorneys,  a  search  for  his 
wife,  and  meanwhile  try  to  formulate  some  sort  of  defi 
nite  plan  in  regard  to  Gladys  Orchil ;  for  if  that  feather 
brained  youngster  went  abroad  in  the  spring  he  meant 
to  follow  her  and  not  only  have  the  Atlantic  between  him 
and  Selwyn  when  he  began  final  suit  for  freedom,  but 
also  be  in  a  position  to  ride  off  any  of  the  needy  house 
hold  cavalry  who  might  come  caracolling  and  cavorting 
too  close  to  the  young  girl  he  had  selected  to  rehabilitate 
the  name,  fortune,  and  house  of  Ruthven. 

This,  in  brief,  was  Ruthven's  general  scheme  of 
campaign ;  and  the  entire  affair  had  taken  some  sort  of 
shape,  and  was  slowly  beginning  to  move,  when  Neer- 
gard's  illness  came  as  an  absolute  check,  just  as  the 
first  papers  were  about  to  be  served  on  him. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  until  Neergard 
got  well,  because  his  attorneys  simply  scoffed  at  any 
suggestion  of  settlement  ex  curia,  and  Ruthven  didn't 

476 


HER    WAY 


want  a  suit  involving  his  wife's  name  while  he  and  Sel- 
wyn  were  in  the  same  hemisphere. 

But  he  could  still  continue  an  unobtrusive  search  for 
the  whereabouts  of  his  wife,  which  he  did.  And  the 
chances  were  that  his  attorneys  would  find  her  without 
great  difficulty,  because  Selwyn  had  not  the  slightest 
suspicion  that  he  was  being  followed. 

In  these  days  Selwyn's  life  was  methodical  and  col 
ourless  in  its  routine  to  the  verge  of  dreariness. 

When  he  was  not  at  the  Government  proving 
grounds  on  Sandy  Hook  he  remained  in  his  room  at 
Lansing's,  doggedly  forcing  himself  into  the  only  alter 
nate  occupation  sufficient  to  dull  the  sadness  of  his  mind 
— the  preparation  of  a  history  of  British  military  or 
ganisation  in  India,  and  its  possible  application  to  pres 
ent  conditions  in  the  Philippines. 

He  had  given  up  going  out — made  no  further  pre 
tense  ;  and  Boots  let  him  alone. 

Once  a  week  he  called  at  the  Gerards',  spending  most 
of  his  time  while  there  with  the  children.  Sometimes 
he  saw  Nina  and  Eileen,  usually  just  returned  or  about 
to  depart  for  some  function;  and  his  visit,  as  a  rule, 
ended  with  a  cup  of  tea  alone  with  Austin,  and  a  quiet 
cigar  in  the  library,  where  Kit-Ki  sat,  paws  folded 
under,  approving  of  the  fireside  warmth  in  a  pleasure- 
able  monotone. 

On  such  evenings,  late,  if  Nina  and  Eileen  had  gone 
to  a  dance,  or  to  the  opera  with  Boots,  Austin,  ruddy 
with  well-being  and  shamelessly  slippered,  stretched 
luxuriously  in  the  fire  warmth,  lazily  discussing  what 
was  nearest  to  him — his  children  and  wife,  and  the  ma 
terial  comfort  which  continued  to  attend  him  with  the 
blessing  of  that  heaven  which  seems  so  largely  occupied 

477 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


in  fulfilling  the  desires  ©f  the  good  for  their  own  com 
mercial  prosperity. 

Too,  he  had  begun  to  show  a  peculiar  pride  in  the 
commercial  development  of  Gerald,  speaking  often  of 
his  gratifying  application  to  business,  the  stability  of 
his  modest  position,  the  friends  he  was  making  among 
men  of  substance,  their  regard  for  him. 

"  Not  that  the  boy  is  doing  much  of  a  business  yet," 
he  would  say  with  a  tolerant  shrug  of  his  big  fleshy 
shoulders,  "  but  he's  laying  the  foundation  for  success 
— a  good,  upright,  solid  foundation — with  the  doubtful 
scheming  of  Neergard  left  out  " — at  that  time  Neer- 
gard  had  not  yet  gone  to  pieces,  physically — "  and  I 
expect  to  aid  him  when  aid  is  required,  and  to  extend 
to  him,  judiciously,  such  assistance,  from  time  to  time, 
as  I  think  he  may  require.  .  .  .  There's  one  thing " 

Austin  puffed  once  or  twice  at  his  cigar  and  frowned ; 
and  Selwyn,  absently  watching  the  dying  embers  on  the 
hearth,  waited  in  silence. 

"  One  thing,"  repeated  Austin,  reaching  for  the 
tongs  and  laying  a  log  of  white  birch  across  the  coals ; 
"  and  that  is  Gerald's  fondness  for  pretty  girls.  .  .  . 
Not  that  it  isn't  all  right,  too,  but  I  hope  he  isn't  going 
<to  involve  himself — hang  a  millstone  around  his  neck 
before  he  can  see  his  way  clear  to  some  promise  of  a 
permanent  income  based  on " 

"Pooh!"  said  Selwyn. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  demanded  Austin,  turning  red. 

Selwyn  laughed.  "  What  did  you  have  when  you 
married  my  sister  ?  " 

Austin,  still  red  and  dignified,  said : 

"  Your  sister  is  a  very  remarkable  woman — ex 
tremely  unusual.  I  had  the  good  sense  to  see  that  the 
first  time  I  ever  met  her." 

478 


HER    WAY 


"  Gerald  will  see  the  same  thing  when  his  time 
comes,"  said  Selwyn  quietly.  "  Don't  worry,  Austin ; 
he's  sound  at  the  core." 

Austin  considered  his  cigar-end,  turning  it  round 
and  round.  "  There's  good  stock  in  the  boy ;  I  always 
knew  it — even  when  he  acted  like  a  yellow  pup.  You 
see,  Phil,  that  my  treatment  of  him  was  the  proper 
treatment.  I  was  right  in  refusing  to  mollycoddle  him 
or  put  up  with  any  of  his  callow,  unbaked  impudence. 
You  know  yourself  that  you  wanted  me  to  let  up  on 
him — make  all  kinds  of  excuses.  Why,  man,  if  I  had 
given  him  an  inch  leeway  he'd  have  been  up  to  his  ears 
in  debt.  But  I  was  firm.  He  saw  I'd  stand  no  fooling. 
He  didn't  dare  contract  debts  which  he  couldn't  pay. 
So  now,  Phil,  you  can  appreciate  the  results  of  my  atti 
tude  toward  him." 

"  I  can,  indeed,"  said  Selwyn  thoughtfully. 

"  I  think  I've  made  a  man  of  him,''  persisted  Austin. 

"  He's  certainly  a  manly  fellow,"  nodded  Selwyn. 

"You  admit  it?" 

"  Certainly,  Austin." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it.  You  thought  me  harsh — 
oh,  I  know  you  did! — but  I  don't  blame  you.  I  knew 
what  I  was  about.  Why,  Phil,  if  I  hadn't  taken  the 
firm  stand  I  took  that  boy  would  have  been  running  to 
Nina  and  Eileen — he  did  go  to  his  sister  once,  but  he 
never  dared  try  it  again ! — and  he'd  probably  have  bor 
rowed  money  of  Neergard  and — by  Jove !  he  might  even 
have  come  to  you  to  get  him  out  of  his  scrapes !  " 

"  Oh,  scarcely  that,"  protested  Selwyn  with  grave 
humour. 

"  That's  all  you  know  about  it,"  nodded  Austin, 
wise-eyed,  smoking  steadily.  "  And  all  I  have  to  say  is 
that  it's  fortunate  for  everybody  that  I  stood  my  ground 

479 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


when  he  came  around  looking  for  trouble.  For  you're 
just  the  sort  of  a  man,  Phil,  who'd  be  likely  to  strip 
yourself  if  that  young  cub  came  howling  for  somebody 
to  pay  his  debts  of  honour.  Admit  it,  now ;  you  know 
you  are." 

But  Selwyn  only  smiled  and  looked  into  the  fire. 

After  a  few  moments'  silence  Austin  said  curiously : 
"  You're  a  frugal  bird.  You  used  to  be  fastidious.  Do 
you  know  that  coat  of  yours  is  nearly  the  limit  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  SelWn,  colouring. 

"  It  is.  ...  What  do  jou  do  with  your  money  ?  In 
vest  it,  of  course ;  but  you  c/ught  to  let  me  place  it.  You 
never  spend  any;  you  shpbld  have  a  decent  little  sum 
tucked  away  by  this  time.  Do  your  Chaosite  exDeri- 
ments  cost  anything 

"  No ;  the  Government  is  conducting  them." 

"  Gocd  business,  ^ha^^pes  the  bally  Government 
think  of  the  powc 

"  I  can't  telK  y^ll^aid  Selwyn  listlessly.  "  There's 
a  plate  due  to  andveYfeo-morrow ;  it  represents  a  section 
of  the  side  armou^pfjone  of  the  new  22,000-ton  battle 
ships.  .  .  .  f\hapeTj>  crack  it." 

"  Oh! — withSNnirsting  charge?  " 

Selwyn  n^jdcfto^and  rested  his  head  on  his  hand. 

A  little  later  Austin  cast  the  remains  of  his  cigar 
from  him,  straightened  up,  yawned,  patted  his  waist 
coat,  and  looked  wisely  at  the  cat. 

"  I'm  going  to  bed,"  he  announced.  "  Boots  is  to 
bring  back  Nina  and  Eileen.  .  .  .  You  don't  mind,  do 
you,  Phil?  I've  a  busy  day  to-morrow.  .  .  .  There's 
Scotch  over  there — you  know  where  things  are.  Ring 
if  you  have  a  sudden  desire  for  anything  funny  like 
peacock  feathers  on  toast.  There's  cold  grouse  some 
where  underground  if  you're  going  to  be  an  owl.  .  .  . 

480 


HER    WAY 


And  don't  feed  that  cat  on  the  rugs.     .     .     .     Good 
night." 

"  Good-night,"  nodded  Selwyn,  relighting  his  cigar. 

He  had  no  intention  of  remaining  very  long ;  he  sup 
posed  that  his  sister  and  Eileen  would  be  out  late,  where- 
ever  they  were,  and  he  merely  meant  to  dream  a  bit 
longer  before  going  back  to  bed. 

He  had  been  smoking  for  half  an  hour  perhaps, 
lying  deep  in  his  chair,  worn  features  dully  illuminated 
by  the  sinking  fire ;  and  he  was  thinking  about  going — 
had  again  relighted  his  partly  consumed  cigar  to  help 
him  with  its  fragrant  companionship  on  his  dark  route 
homeward,  when  he  heard  a  footfall  on  the  landing, 
and  turned  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Gerald  in  overcoat  and 
hat,  moving  silently  toward  the  stairs. 

"  Hello,  old  fellow!  "  he  said,  surprised.  "  I  didn't 
know  you  were  in  the  house." 

The  boy  hesitated,  turned,  placed  something  just 
outside  the  doorway,  and  came  quickly  into  the  room. 

"  Philip ! "  he  said  with  a  curious,  excited  laugh, 
"  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  I  never  yet  came  to  you 
without  asking  something  and — you  never  have  failed 
me.  Would  you  tell  me  now  what  J  had  better  do  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Selwyn,  surprised  and  smiling ; 
"  ask  me,  old  fellow.  You're  not  eloping  with  some  nice 
girl,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerald,  calm  in  his  excitement,  "  I  am." 

"  What  ?  "  repeated  Selwyn  gravely ;  "  what  did  vou 
say?" 

"  You  guessed  it.  I  came  home  and  dressed  and 
I'm  going  back  to  the  Craigs'  to  marry  a  girl  whose 
mother  and  father  won't  let  me  have  her." 

"  Sit  down,  Gerald,"  said  Selwyn,  removing  the 
cigar  from  his  lips  ;  but : 

481 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  I  haven't  time,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  simply  want  to 
know  what  you'd  do  if  you  loved  a  girl  whose  mother 
means  to  send  her  to  London  to  get  rid  of  me  and  marry 
her  to  that  yawning  Elliscombe  fellow  who  was  over 
here.  .  .  .  What  would  you  do?  She's  too  young  to 
stand  much  of  a  siege  in  London — some  Englishman  will 
get  her  if  he  persists — and  I  mean  to  make  her  love  me." 

"Oh!    Doesn't  she?" 

"  Y-es.  .  .  .  You  know  how  young  girls  are.  Yes, 
she  does — now.  But  a  year  or  two  with  that  crowd — 
and  the  duchess  being  good  to  her,  and  Elliscombe 
yawning  and  looking  like  a  sleepy  Lohengrin  or  some 
damned  prince  in  his  Horse  Guards'  helmet ! — Selwyn,  I 
can  see  the  end  of  it.  She  can't  stand  it ;  she's  too  young 
not  to  get  over  it.  ...  So,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Who  is  she,  Gerald?" 

"  I  won't  tell  you." 

"Oh!  ...  Of  course  she's  the  right  sort?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"Young?" 

"  Very.     Out  last  season." 

Selwyn  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor;  Kit-Ki, 
disturbed,  looked  up,  then  resumed  her  purring. 

"  There's  nothing  dishonourable  in  this,  of  course," 
said  Selwyn,  halting  short. 

"  No,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  went  to  her  mother  and 
asked  for  her,  and  was  sent  about  my  business.  Then 
I  went  to  her  father.  You  know  him.  He  was  decent, 
bland,  evasive,  but  decent.  Said  his  daughter  needed 
a  couple  of  seasons  in  London;  hinted  of  some  prior 
attachment.  Which  is  rot ;  because  she  loves  me — she 
admits  it.  Well,  I  said  to  him,  '  I'm  going  to  marry 
Gladys  ' ;  and  he  laughed  and  tried  to  look  at  his  mous 
tache  ;  and  after  a  while  he  asked  to  be  excused.  I  took 

482 


HER    WAY 


the  count.  Then  I  saw  Gladys  at  the  Craigs',  and  I 
said,  *  Gladys,  if  you'll  give  up  the  whole  blooming 
heiress  business  and  come  with  me,  I'll  make  you  the 
happiest  girl  in  Manhattan.'  And  she  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eyes  and  said,  *  I'd  rather  grow  up  with 
you  than  grow  old  forgetting  you.' '' 

"  Did  she  say  that?  "  asked  Selwyn. 

"  She  said,  *  We've  the  greatest  chance  in  the  world, 
Gerald,  to  make  something  of  each  other.  Is  it  a  good 
risk?  '  And  I  said,  '  It  is  the  best  risk  in  the  world  if 
you  love  me.'  And  she  said,  '  I  do,  dearly ;  I'll  take  my 
chance.'  And  that's  how  it  stands,  Philip.  .  .  .  She's 
at  the  Craigs' — a  suit-case  and  travelling-gown  up 
stairs.  Suddy  Gray  and  Betty  Craig  are  standing  for 
it,  and  " — with  a  flush — "  there's  a  little  church,  you 
know " 

"  Around  the  corner.  I  know.  Did  you  tele 
phone  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  a  pause ;  the  older  man  dropped  his  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  stepped  quietly  in  front  of  Gerald ; 
and  for  a  full  minute  they  looked  squarely  at  one  an 
other,  unwinking. 

"Well?"  asked  Gerald,  almost  tremulously. 
"  Can't  you  say,  «  Go  ahead! '?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  the  boy  simply.  "  A  man 
doesn't  ask  about  such  matters;  he  does  them.  .  .  . 
Tell  Austin  and  Nina.  .  .  .  And  give  this  note  to 
Eileen."  He  opened  a  portfolio  and  laid  an  envelope 
in  Selwyn's  hands.  "  And — by  George ! — I  almost  for 
got  !  Here  " — and  he  laid  a  check  across  the  note  in 
Selwyn's  hand — "  here's  the  balance  of  what  you've 
advanced  me.  Thank  God,  I've  made  it  good,  every 

483 


THE  YOUNGER    SET 


cent.  But  the  debt  is  only  the  deeper.  .  .  .  Good-by, 
Philip." 

Selwyn  held  the  boy's  hand  a  moment.  Once  or  twice 
Gerald  thought  he  meant  to  speak,  and  waited,  but  when 
he  became  aware  of  the  check  thrust  back  at  him  he 
forced  it  on  Selwyn  again,  laughing : 

"  No !  no !  If  I  did  not  stand  clear  and  free  in  my 
shoes  do  you  think  I'd  dare  do  what  I'm  doing?  Do 
you  suppose  I'd  ask  a  girl  to  face  with  me  a  world  in 
which  I  owed  a  penny?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  afraid  of 
that  world  ? — or  of  a  soul  in  it  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  can't 
take  a  living  out  of  it  ?  " 

Suddenly  Selwyn  crushed  the  boy's  hand. 

"  Then  take  it ! — and  her,  too !  "  he  said  between  his 
teeth;  and  turned  on  his  heel,  resting  his  arms  on  the 
mantel  and  his  head  face  downward  between  them. 

So  Gerald  went  away  in  the  pride  and  excitement  of 
buoyant  youth  to  take  love  as  he  found  it  and  where 
he  found  it — though  he  had  found  it  only  as  the  green 
bud  of  promise  which  unfolds,  not  to  the  lover,  but  to 
love.  And  the  boy  was  only  one  of  many  on  whom  the 
victory  might  have  fallen ;  but  such  a  man  becomes  the 
only  man  when  he  takes  what  he  finds  for  himself — 
green  bud,  half  blown,  or  open  to  its  own  deep  fragrant 
heart.  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,  and  much  for 
given.  For  it  is  the  law  of  the  strong  and  the  prophets : 
and  a  little  should  be  left  to  that  Destiny  which  the  de 
vout  revere  under  a  gentler  name. 

The  affair  made  a  splash  in  the  social  puddle,  and 
the  commotion  spread  outside  of  it.  Inside  the  nine- 
and-seventy  cackled ;  outside  similar  gallinaceous  sounds. 
Neergard  pored  all  day  over  the  blue-pencilled  column, 
and  went  home,  stunned ;  the  social  sheet  which  is  taken 

484 


HER    WAY 


below  stairs  and  read  above  was  full  of  it,  as  was  the 
daily  press  and  the  mouths  of  people  interested,  unin 
terested,  and  disinterested,  legitimately  or  otherwise, 
until  people  began  to  tire  of  telling  each  other  exactly 
how  it  happened  that  Gerald  Erroll  ran  away  with 
Gladys  Orchil. 

Sanxon  Orchil  was  widely  quoted  as  suavely  and  ur 
banely  deploring  the  premature  consummation  of  an 
alliance  long  since  decided  upon  by  both  families  in 
volved;  Mrs.  Orchil  snapped  her  electric-blue  eyes  and 
held  her  peace — between  her  very  white  teeth;  Austin 
Gerard,  secretly  astounded  with  admiration  for  Gerald, 
received  the  reporters  with  a  countenance  expressive  of 
patient  pain,  but  downtown  he  made  public  pretence  of 
busy  indifference,  as  though  not  fully  alive  to  the  mate 
rial  benefit  connected  with  the  unexpected  alliance.  Nina 
wept — happily  at  moments — at  moments  she  laughed 
— because  she  had  heard  all  about  the  famous  British 
invasion  planned  by  the  Orchils  and  abetted  by  Anglo- 
American  aristocracy.  She  did  not  laugh  too  mali 
ciously  ;  she  simply  couldn't  help  it.  Her  set  was  not 
the  Orchils'  set,  their  ways  were  not  her  ways ;  their 
orbits  merely  intersected  occasionally ;  and,  left  to  her 
self  and  the  choice  hers,  she  would  not  have  troubled 
herself  to  engineer  any  such  alliance,  even  to  stir  up 
Mrs.  Sanxon  Orchil.  Besides,  deep  in  her  complacent 
little  New  York  soul  she  had  the  faintest  germ  of  con 
tempt  for  the  Cordova  ancestors  of  the  house  of  Orchil. 

But  the  young  and  silly  pair  had  now  relieved  her 
as  well  as  Mrs.  Orchil  of  any  further  trouble  concerning 
themselves,  the  American  duchess,  the  campaign,  and 
the  Horse  Guards :  they  had  married  each  other  rather 
shamelessly  one  evening  while  supposed  to  be  dancing 
at  the  Sandon  Craigs',  and  had  departed  expensively  for 

485 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Palm  Beach,  whither  Austin,  grim,  reticent,  but  in 
wardly  immensely  contented,  despatched  the  accumu 
lated  exclamatory  letters  of  the  family  with  an  intima 
tion  of  his  own  that  two  weeks  was  long  enough  to  cut 
business  even  with  a  honeymoon  as  excuse. 

Meanwhile  the  disorganisation  in  the  nursery  was 
tremendous ;  the  children,  vaguely  aware  of  the  house 
hold  demoralisation  and  excitement,  took  the  oppor 
tunity  to  break  loose  on  every  occasion ;  and  Kit-Ki,  to 
her  infinite  boredom  and  disgust,  was  hunted  from  gar 
ret  to  cellar ;  and  Drina,  taking  advantage,  contrived  to 
over-eat  herself  and  sit  up  late,  and  was  put  to  bed 
sick;  and  Eileen,  loyal,  but  sorrowfully  amazed  at  her 
brother's  exclusion  of  her  in  such  a  crisis,  became  slowly 
overwhelmed  with  the  realisation  of  her  loneliness,  and 
took  to  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  feeling  tearful 
and  abandoned,  and  very  much  like  a  very  little  girl 
whose  heart  was  becoming  far  too  full  of  all  sorts  of 
sorrows. 

Nina  misunderstood  her,  finding  her  lying  on  her 
bed,  her  pale  face  pillowed  in  her  hair. 

"  Only  horridly  ordinary  people  will  believe  that 
Gerald  wanted  her  money,"  said  Nina ;  "  as  though  an 
Erroll  considered  such  matters  at  all — or  needed  to. 
Clear,  clean  English  you  are,  back  to  the  cavaliers  whose 
flung  purses  were  their  thanks  when  the  Cordovans  held 
their  horses'  heads.  .  .  .  What  are  you  crying  for?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Eileen ;  "  not  for  anything 
that  you  speak  of.  Neither  Gerald  nor  I  ever  wasted 
any  emotion  over  money,  or  what  others  think  about 
it.  ...  Is  Drina  ill?" 

"  No ;  only  sick.  Calomel  will  fix  her,  but  she  be 
lieves  she's  close  to  dissolution  and  she's  sent  for  Boots 
to  take  leave  of  him — the  little  monkey !  I'm  so  indig- 

486 


HER    WAY 


nant.  She's  taken  advantage  of  the  general  demoralisa 
tion  to  eat  up  everything  in  the  house.  .  .  .  Billy  fell 
downstairs,  fox-hunting,  and  his  nose  bled  all  over  that 
pink  Kirman  rug.  ,  .  .  Boots  is  a  dear;  do  you  know 
what  he's  done?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Eileen  listlessly,  raising  the  back 
of  her  slender  hand  from  her  eyes  to  peer  at  Nina 
through  the  glimmer  of  tears. 

"  Well,  he  and  Phil  have  moved  out  of  Boots's  house, 
and  Boots  has  wired  Gerald  and  Gladys  that  the  house 
is  ready  for  them  until  they  can  find  a  place  of  their 
own.  Of  course  they'll  both  come  here — in  fact,  their 
luggage  is  upstairs  now — Boots  takes  the  blue  room 
and  Phil  his  old  quarters.  .  .  .  But  don't  you  think 
it  is  perfectly  sweet  of  Boots?  And  isn't  it  good  to 
have  Philip  back  again  ?  " 

"  Y-es,"  said  Eileen  faintly.  Lying  there,  the  deep 
azure  of  her  eyes  starred  with  tears,  a  new  tremor 
altered  her  mouth,  and  the  tight-curled  upper  lip  quiv 
ered.  Her  heart,  too,  had  begun  its  heavy,  unsteady 
response  in  recognition  of  her  lover's  name ;  she  turned 
partly  away  from  Nina,  burying  her  face  in  her  bril 
liant  hair;  and  beside  her  slim  length,  straight  and 
tense,  her  arms  lay,  the  small  hands  contracting  till 
they  had  closed  as  tightly  as  her  teeth. 

It  was  no  child,  now,  who  lay  there,  fighting  down 
the  welling  desolation ;  no  visionary  adolescent  grieving 
over  the  colourless  ashes  of  her  first  romance ;  not  even 
the  woman,  socially  achieved,  intelligently  and  intel 
lectually  in  love.  It  was  a  girl,  old  enough  to  realise 
that  the  adoration  she  had  given  was  not  wholly  spirit 
ual,  that  her  delight  in  her  lover  and  her  response  to  him 
was  not  wholly  of  the  mind,  not  so  purely  of  the  intel 
lect  ;  that  there  was  still  more,  something  sweeter,  more 
33  487 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


painful,  more  bewildering  that  she  could  give  him,  de 
sired  to  give — nay,  that  she  could  not  withhold  even 
with  sealed  eyes  and  arms  outstretched  in  the  darkness 
of  wakeful  hours,  with  her  young  heart  straining  in  her 
breast  and  her  set  lips  crushing  back  the  unuttered  cry. 
Love!  So  that  was  it! — the  need,  the  pain,  the 
bewilderment,  the  hot  sleeplessness,  the  mad  audacity  of 
a  blessed  dream,  the  flushed  awakening,  stunned  rap 
ture — and  then  the  gray  truth,  bleaching  the  rose  tints 
from  the  fading  tapestries  of  slumberland,  leaving  her 
flung  across  her  pillows,  staring  at  daybreak. 
•  •  •  •  • 

Nina  had  laid  a  cool  smooth  hand  across  her  fore 
head,  pushing  back  the  hair — a  light  caress,  sensitive  as 
an  unasked  question. 

But  there  was  no  response,  and  presently  the  elder 
woman  rose  and  went  out  along  the  landing,  and  Eileen 
heard  her  laughingly  greeting  Boots,  who  had  arrived 
post-haste  on  news  of  Drina's  plight. 

"  Don't  be  frightened ;  the  little  wretch  carried  tons 
of  indigestible  stuff  to  her  room  and  sat  up  half  the 
night  eating  it.  Where's  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Here's  a  special  delivery  for  him. 
I  signed  for  it  and  brought  it  from  the  house.  He'll 
be  here  from  the  Hook  directly,  I  fancy.  Where  is 
Drina?" 

"  In  bed.  I'll  take  you  up.  Mind  you,  there'll  be 
a  scene,  so  nerve  yourself." 

They  went  upstairs  together.  Nina  knocked,  peeped 
in,  then  summoned  Mr.  Lansing. 

"  Oh,  Boots,  Boots ! "  groaned  Drina,  lifting  her 
arms  and  encircling  his  neck,  "  I  don't  think  I  am  ever 
going  to  get  well — I  don't  believe  it,  no  matter  what 
they  say.  I  am  glad  you  have  come;  I  wanted  you — 

488 


HER    WAY 


and  I'm  very,  very  sick.  «  *  ,  Are  you  happy  to  be 
with  me?" 

Boots  sat  on  the  bedside,  the  feverish  little  head  in 
his  arms,  and  Nina  was  a  trifle  surprised  to  see  how 
seriously  he  took  it. 

"  Boots,"  she  said,  "  you  look  as  though  your  last 
hour  had  come.  Are  you  letting  that  very  bad  child 
frighten  you?  Drina,  dear,  mother  doesn't  mean  to 
be  horrid,  but  you're  too  old  to  whine.  .  .  .  It's  time 
for  the  medicine,  too " 

"  Oh,  mother!  the  nasty  kind?  " 

"  Certainly.     Boots,  if  you'll  move  aside " 

"  Let  Boots  give  it  to  me ! "  exclaimed  the  child 
tragically.  "  It  will  do  no  good ;  I'm  not  getting  better  ; 
but  if  I  must  take  it,  let  Boots  hold  me — and  the 
spoon !  " 

She  sat  straight  up  in  bed  with  a  superb  gesture 
which  would  have  done  credit  to  that  classical  gentle 
man  who  heroically  swallowed  the  hemlock  cocktail. 
Some  of  the  dose  bespattered  Boots,  and  when  the  deed 
was  done  the  child  fell  back  and  buried  her  head  on  his 
breast,  incidentally  leaving  medicinal  traces  on  his  collar. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  asleep,  holding  fast  to 
Boots's  sleeve,  and  that  young  gentleman  sat  in  a  chair 
beside  her,  discussing  with  her  pretty  mother  the 
plans  made  for  Gladys  and  Gerald  on  their  expected 
arrival. 

Eileen,  pale  and  heavy-lidded,  looked  in  on  her  way 
to  some  afternoon  affair,  nodding  unsmiling  at  Boots. 

"  Have  you  been  rifling  the  pantry,  too?  "  he  whis 
pered.  "'  You  lack  your  usual  chromatic  symphony." 

"  No,  Boots ;  I'm  just  tired.  If  I  wasn't  physically 
afraid  of  Drina,  I'd  get  you  to  run  off  with  me — any 
where.  .  ,  ,  What  is  that  letter,  Nina?  For  me?  " 

489 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  It's  for  Phil.  Boots  brought  it  around.  Leave  it 
on  the  library  table,  dear,  when  you  go  down." 

Eileen  took  the  letter  and  turned  away.  A  few  mo 
ments  later  as  she  laid  it  on  the  library  table,  her  eyes 
involuntarily  noted  the  superscription  written  in  the 
long,  angular,  fashionable  writing  of  a  woman. 

And  slowly  the  inevitable  question  took  shape  within 
her. 

How  long  she  stood  there  she  did  not  know,  but  the 
points  of  her  gloved  fingers  were  still  resting  on  the 
table  and  her  gaze  was  still  concentrated  on  the  en 
velope  when  she  felt  Selwyn's  presence  in  the  room,  near, 
close;  and  looked  up  into  his  steady  eyes.  And  knew 
he  loved  her. 

And  suddenly  she  broke  down — for  with  his  deep 
gaze  in  hers  the  overwrought  spectre  had  fled! — broke 
down,  no  longer  doubting,  bowing  her  head  in  her  slim 
gloved  hands,  thrilled  to  the  soul  with  the  certitude  of 
their  unhappiness  eternal,  and  the  dreadful  pleasure  of 
her  share. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  made  out  to  say,  managing  also 
to  keep  his  hands  off  her  where  she  sat,  bowed  and  quiv 
ering  by  the  table. 

"  N-nothing.  A — a  little  crisis — over  now — nearly 
over.  It  was  that  letter — other  women  writing  you. 
.  .  .  And  I — outlawed — tongue-tied.  .  .  .  Don't  look 
at  me,  don't  wait.  I — I  am  going  out." 

He  went  to  the  window,  stood  a  moment,  came  back 
to  the  table,  took  his  letter,  and  walked  slowly  again 
to  the  window. 

After  a  while  he  heard  the  rustle  of  her  gown  as  she 
left  the  room,  and  a  little  later  he  straightened  up, 
passed  his  hand  across  his  tired  eyes,  and,  looking;  down 
at  the  letter  in  his  hand,  broke  the  seal. 

490 


HER    WAT 


It  was  from  one  of  the  nurses,  Miss  Casson,  and 
shorter  than  usual: 

"  Mrs.  Ruthven  is  physically  in  perfect  health,  but 
yesterday  we  noted  a  rather  startling  change  in  her 
mental  condition.  There  were,  during  the  day,  intervals 
that  seemed  perfectly  lucid.  Once  she  spoke  of  Miss 
Bond  as  *  the  other  nurse,'  as  though  she  realised  some 
thing  of  the  conditions  surrounding  her.  Once,  too, 
she  seemed  astonished  when  I  brought  her  a  doll,  and 
asked  me :  '  Is  there  a  child  here  ?  Or  is  it  for  a  charity 
bazaar?  ' 

;  "  Later  I  found  her  writing  a  letter  at  my  desk. 
She  left  it  unfinished  when  she  went  to  drive — a  mere 
scrap.  I  thought  it  best  to  enclose  it,  which  I  do,  here 
with." 

The  enclosure  he  opened : 

"  Phil,  dear,  though  I  have  been  very  ill  I  know 
you  are  my  own  husband.  All  the  rest  was  only  a  child's 
dream  of  terror " 

And  that  was  all — only  this  scrap,  firmly  written  in 
the  easy  flowing  hand  he  knew  so  well.  He  studied  it 
for  a  moment  or  two,  then  resumed  Miss  Casson's  letter : 

"  A  man  stopped  our  sleigh  yesterday,  asking  if  he 
was  not  speaking  to  Mrs.  Ruthven.  I  was  a  trifle  wor 
ried,  and  replied  that  any  communication  for  Mrs.  Ruth 
ven  could  be  sent  to  me. 

"  That  evening  two  men — gentlemen  apparently — 
came  to  the  house  and  asked  for  me.  I  went  down  to 
receive  them.  One  was  a  Dr.  Mallison,  the  other  said 
his  name  was  Thomas  B.  Hallam,  but  gave  no  business 
address. 

"  When  I  found  that  they  had  come  without  your 
knowledge  and  authority,  I  refused  to  discuss  Mrs. 
Ruthven's  condition,  and  the  one  who  said  his  name  was 

491 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Hallam  spoke  rather  peremptority  and  in  a  way  that 
made  me  think  he  might  be  a  lawyer. 

"  They  got  nothing  out  of  me,  and  they  left  when 
I  made  it  plain  that  I  had  nothing  to  tell  them. 

66 1  thought  it  best  to  let  you  know  about  this, 
though  I,  personally,  cannot  guess  what  it  might  mean." 

Selwyn  turned  the  page: 

"  One  other  matter  worries  Miss  Bond  and  myself. 
The  revolver  you  sent  us  at  my  request  has  disappeared. 
We  are  nearly  sure  Mrs.  Ruthven  has  it — you  know  she 
once  dressed  it  as  a  doll — calling  it  her  army  doll! 
— but  now  we  can't  find  it.  She  has  hidden  it  some 
where,  out  of  doors  in  the  shrubbery,  we  think,  and  Miss 
Bond  and  I  expect  to  secure  it  the  next  time  she  takes 
a  fancy  to  have  all  her  dolls  out  for  a  '  lawn-party.' 

"  Dr.  Wesson  says  there  is  no  danger  of  her  doing 
any  harm  with  it,  but  wants  us  to  secure  it  at  the  first 
opportunity " 

He  turned  the  last  page ;  on  the  other  side  was  mere 
ly  the  formula  of  leave-taking  and  Miss  Casson's  sig 
nature. 

For  a  while  he  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  head 
bent,  narrowing  eyes  fixed ;  then  he  folded  the  letter, 
pocketed  it,  and  walked  to  the  table  where  a  directory 
lay. 

He  found  the  name,  Hallam,  very  easily — Thomas 
B.  Hallam,  lawyer,  junior  in  the  firm  of  Spencer,  Boyd 
&  Hallam.  They  were  attorneys  for  Jack  Ruthven; 
he  knew  that. 

Mallison  he  also  found — Dr.  James  Mallison,  who, 
it  appeared,  conducted  some  sort  of  private  asylum  on 
Long  Island. 

And  when  he  had  found  what  he  wanted,  he  went  to 
the  telephone  and  rang  up  Mr.  Ruthven,  but  the  servant 


HER    WAT 


who   answered   the   telephone   informed   him   that   Mr. 
Ruthven  was  not  in  town. 

So  Selwyn  hung  up  the  receiver  and  sat  down, 
thoughtful,  grim,  the  trace  of  a  scowl  creeping  across 
his  narrowing  gray  eyes. 

Of  the  abject  cowardice  of  Ruthven  he  had  been 
so  certain  that  he  had  hitherto  discounted  any  inter 
ference  from  him.  Yet,  now,  the  man  was  apparently 
preparing  for  some  sort  of  interference.  What  did  he 
want?  Selwyn  had  contemptuously  refused  to  permit 
him  to  seek  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of  his  wife's  infirm 
ity;.  What  was  the  man  after?. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  man  was  after  his  divorce,  that  was  what  it  all 
meant.  His  first  check  on  the  long  trail  came  with  the 
stupefying  news  of  Gerald's  runaway  marriage  to  the 
young  girl  he  was  laying  his  own  plans  to  marry  some 
day  in  the  future,  and  at  first  the  news  staggered  him, 
leaving  him  apparently  no  immediate  incentive  for  secur 
ing  his  freedom. 

But  Ruthven  instantly  began  to  realise  that  what 
he  had  lost  he  might  not  have  lost  had  he  been  free  to 
shoulder  aside  the  young  fellow  who  had  forestalled 
him.  The  chance  had  passed — that  particular  chance. 
But  he'd  never  again  allow  himself  to  be  caught  in  a 
position  where  such  a  chance  could  pass  him  by  because 
he  was  not  legally  free  to  at  least  make  the  effort  to 
seize  it. 

Fear  in  his  soul  had  kept  him  from  blazoning  his 
wife's  infirmity  to  the  world  as  cause  for  an  action 
against  her;  but  he  remembered  Neergard's  impudent 
cruise  with  her  on  the  Niobrara,  and  he  had  temporarily 
settled  on  that  as  a  means  to  extort  revenue,  not  intend 
ing  such  an  action  should  ever  come  to  trial.  And  then 

493 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


he  learned  that  Neergard  had  gone  to  pieces.  That  was 
the  second  check. 

Ruthven  needed  money.  He  needed  it  because  he 
meant  to  put  the  ocean  between  himself  and  Selwyn  be 
fore  commencing  any  suit — whatever  ground  he  might 
choose  for  entering  such  a  suit.  He  required  capital  on 
which  to  live  abroad  during  the  proceedings,  if  that 
could  be  legally  arranged.  And  meanwhile,  preliminary 
to  any  plan  of  campaign,  he  desired  to  know  where  his 
wife  was  and  what  might  he  her  actual  physical  and 
mental  condition. 

He  had  supposed  her  to  be,  or  to  have  been,  ill — at 
least  erratic  and  not  to  be  trusted  with  her  own  free 
dom  ;  therefore  he  had  been  quite  prepared  to  hear  from 
those  whom  he  employed  to  trace  and  find  her  that  she 
was  housed  in  some  institution  devoted  to  the  incarcera 
tion  of  such  unfortunates. 

But  Ruthven  was  totally  unprepared  for  the  report 
brought  him  by  a  private  agency  to  the  effect  that 
Mrs.  Ruthven  was  apparently  in  perfect  health,  living 
in  the  country,  maintaining  a  villa  and  staff  of  serv 
ants;  that  she  might  be  seen  driving  a  perfectly  ap 
pointed  Cossack  sleigh  any  day  with  a  groom  on  the  rum 
ble  and  a  companion  beside  her;  that  she  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  sane,  healthy  in  body  and  mind,  comfortable, 
happy,  and  enjoying  life  under  the  protection  of  a  cer 
tain  Captain  Selwyn,  who  paid  all  her  bills  and,  at 
certain  times,  was  seen  entering  or  leaving  her  house 
at  Edgewater. 

Excited,  incredulous,  but  hoping  for  the  worst, 
Ruthven  had  posted  off  to  his  attorneys.  To  them  he 
naively  confessed  his  desire  to  be  rid  of  Alixe;  he  re 
ported  her  misconduct  with  Neergard — which  he  knew 
was  a  lie — her  pretence  of  mental  prostration,  her  dis- 

494 


HER    WAY 


appearance,  and  his  last  interview  with  Selwyn  in  the 
card-room.  He  also  gave  a  vivid  description  of  that 
gentleman's  disgusting  behaviour,  and  his  threats  of 
violence  during  that  interview. 

To  all  of  which  his  attorneys  listened  very  atten 
tively,  bade  him  have  no  fear  of  his  life,  requested  him 
to  make  several  affidavits,  and  leave  the  rest  to  them  for 
the  present. 

Which  he  did,  without  hearing  from  them  until  Mr. 
Hallam  telegraphed  him  to  come  to  Edgewater  if  he 
had  nothing  better  to  do. 

And  Ruthven  had  just  arrived  at  that  inconspicuous 
Long  Island  village  when  his  servant,  at  the  telephone, 
replied  to  Selwyn's  inquiry  that  his  master  was  out 

of  town. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Mr.  Hallam  was  a  very  busy,  very  sanguine,  very 
impetuous  young  man ;  and  when  he  met  Ruthven  at 
the  Edgewater  station  he  told  him  promptly  that  he 
had  the  best  case  on  earth ;  that  he,  Hallam,  was  going 
to  New  York  on  the  next  train,  now  almost  due,  and 
that  Ruthven  had  better  drive  over  and  see  for  himself 
how  gaily  his  wife  maintained  her  household;  for  the 
Cossack  sleigh,  with  its  gay  crimson  tchug,  had  but  just 
returned  from  the  usual  afternoon  spin,  and  the  young 
chatelaine  of  Willow  Villa  was  now  on  the  snow-covered 
lawn,  romping  with  the  coachman's  huge  white  wolf 
hound.  ...  It  might  he  just  as  well  for  Ruthven  to 
stroll  up  that  way  and  see  for  himself.  The  house  was 
known  as  the  Willow  Villa.  Any  hackman  could  drive 
him  past  it. 

As  Hallam  was  speaking  the  New  York  train  came 
thundering  in,  and  the  young  lawyer,  facing  the  snowy 
clouds  of  steam,  swung  his  suit-case  and  himself  aboard. 

495 


THE  YOUNGER   fSET 


On  the  Pullman  platform  he  paused  and  looked  around 
and  down  at  Ruthven. 

"  It's  just  as  you  like,"  he  said.  "  If  you'd  rather 
come  back  with  me  on  this  train,  come  ahead !  It  isn't 
absolutely  necessary  that  you  make  a  personal  in 
spection  now;  only  that  fellow  Selwyn  is  not  here 
to-day,  and  I  thought  if  you  wanted  to  look  about 
a  bit  you  could  do  it  this  afternoon  without  chance 
of  running  into  him  and  startling  the  whole  mess 
boiling." 

"  Is  Captain  Selwyn  in  town?, "  asked  Ruthven,  red 
dening. 

"  Yes ;  an  agency  man  telephoned  me  that  he's  just 
back  from  Sandy  Hook " 

The  train  began  to  move  out  of  the  station.  Ruth 
ven  hesitated,  then  stepped  away  from  the  passing  car 
with  a  significant  parting  nod  to  Hallam. 

As  the  train,  gathering  momentum,  swept  past  him, 
he  stared  about  at  the  snow-covered  station,  the  guard, 
the  few  people  congregated  there. 

"  There's  another  train  at  four,  isn't  there? "  he 
asked  an  official. 

"  Four-thirty,  express.    Yes,  sir." 

A  hackman  came  up  soliciting  patronage.  Ruthven 
motioned  him  to  follow,  leading  the  way  to  the  edge  of 
the  platform. 

"  I  don't  want  to  drive  to  the  village.  What  have 
you  got  there,  a  sleigh?  " 

It  was  the  usual  Long  Island  depot-wagon,  on  run 
ners  instead  of  wheels. 

"  Do  you  know  the  Willow  Villa  ?  "  demanded  Ruth 
ven. 

"Wilier   Viller,    sir?     Yes,   sir.      Step   right    this 

way " 

496 


HER    WAY 


"  Wait !  "  snapped  Ruthven.  "  I  asked  you  if  you 
knew  it ;  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  to  go  there." 

The  hackman  in  his  woolly  greatcoat  stared  at  the 
little  dapper,  smooth-shaven  man,  who  eyed  him  in  re 
turn,  coolly  insolent,  lighting  a  cigar. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  Willow  Villa,"  said  Ruth 
ven  ;  "  I  want  you  to  drive  me  past  it." 

"Sir?" 

"  Past  it.  And  then  turn  around  and  drive  back 
here.  Is  that  plain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Ruthven  got  into  the  closed  body  of  the  vehicle, 
rubbed  the  frost  from  the  window,  and  peeked  out. 
The  hackman,  unhitching  his  lank  horse,  climbed  to  the 
seat,  gathered  the  reins,  and  the  vehicle  started  to  the 
jangling  accompaniment  of  a  single  battered  cow-bell. 

The  melancholy  clamour  of  the  bell  annoyed  little 
Mr.  Ruthven ;  he  was  horribly  cold,  too,  even  in  his  fur 
coat.  Also  the  musty  smell  of  the  ancient  vehicle  an 
noyed  him  as  he  sat,  half  turned  around,  peeping  out 
of  the  rear  window  into  the  white  tree-lined  road. 

There  was  nothing  to  see  but  the  snowy  road  flanked 
by  trees  and  stark  hedges ;  nothing  but  the  flat  expanse 
of  white  on  either  side,  broken  here  and  there  by  patches 
of  thin  woodlands  or  by  some  old-time  farmhouse  with 
its  slab  shingles  painted  white  and  its  green  shutters 
and  squat  roof. 

"  What  a  God-forsaken  place,"  muttered  little  Mr. 
Ruthven  with  a  hard  grimace.  "  If  she's  happy  in  this 
sort  of  a  hole  there's  no  doubt  she's  some  sort  of  a 
lunatic." 

He  looked  out  again  furtively,  thinking  of  what  the 
agency  had  reported  to  him.  How  was  it  possible  for 
any  human  creature  to  live  in  such  a  waste  and  be  happy 

497 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


and  healthy  and  gay,  as  they  told  him  his  wife  was. 
What  could  a  human  being  do  to  kill  the  horror  of  such 
silent,  deathly  white  isolation?  Drive  about  in  it  in  a 
Cossack  sleigh,  as  they  said  she  did  ?  Horror ! 

The  driver  pulled  up  short,  then  began  to  turn  his 
horse.  Ruthven  squinted  out  of  the  window,  but  saw  no 
sign  of  a  villa.  Then  he  rapped  sharply  on  the  forward 
window,  motioning  the  driver  to  descend,  come  around> 
and  open  the  door. 

When  the  man  appeared  Ruthven  demanded  why  he 
had  turned  his  horse,  and  the  hackman,  pointing  to  a 
wooded  hill  to  the  west,  explained  that  the  Willow  Villa 
stood  there. 

Ruthven  had  supposed  that  the  main  road  passed 
the  house;  he  got  out  of  the  covered  wagon,  looked 
across  at  the  low  hill,  and  dug  his  gloved  hands  deeper 
into  his  fur-lined  pockets. 

For  a  while  he  stood  in  the  snow,  stolid,  thoughtful, 
puffing  his  cigar.  A  half-contemptuous  curiosity  pos 
sessed  him  to  see  his  wife  once  more  before  he  discarded 
her;  see  what  she  looked  like,  whether  she  appeared 
normal  and  in  possession  of  the  small  amount  of  sense 
he  had  condescended  to  credit  her  with. 

Besides,  here  was  a  safe  chance  to  see  her.  Selwyn 
was  in  New  York,  and  the  absolute  certainty  of  his  per 
sonal  safety  attracted  him  strongly,  rousing  all  the 
latent  tyranny  in  his  meagre  soul. 

Probably — but  he  didn't  understand  the  legal  re 
quirements  of  the  matter,  and  whether  or  not  it  was 
necessary  for  him  personally  to  see  this  place  where 
Selwyn  maintained  her,  and  see  her  in  it — probably  he 
would  be  obliged  to  come  here  again  with  far  less  cer 
tainty  of  personal  security  from  Selwyn.  Perhaps  that 
future  visit  might  even  be  avoided  if  he  took  this  oppor- 

498 


HER    WA? 


tunity  to  investigate.  Whether  it  was  the  half -sneering 
curiosity  to  see  his  wife,  or  the  hope  of  doing  a  thing 
now  which,  by  the  doing,  he  need  not  do  later — whether 
it  was  either  of  these  that  moved  him  to  the  impulse,  is 
not  quite  clear. 

He  said  to  the  hackman :  "  You  wait  here.  I'm  go 
ing  over  to  the  Willow  Villa  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  I'll  want  you  to  drive  me  back  to  the  station  in  time 
for  that  four-thirty.  Do  you  understand?  " 

The  man  said  he  understood,  and  Ruthven,  bundled 
in  his  fur  coat,  picked  his  way  across  the  crust,  through 
a  gateway,  and  up  what  appeared  to  be  a  hedged  lane. 

The  lane  presently  disclosed  itself  as  an  avenue,  now 
doubly  lined  with  tall  trees ;  this  avenue  he  continued 
to  follow,  passing  through  a  grove  of  locusts,  and  came 
out  before  a  house  on  the  low  crest  of  a  hill. 

There  were  clumps  of  evergreens  about,  tall  cedars, 
a  bit  of  bushy  foreland,  and  a  stretch  of  snow.  And 
across  this  open  space  of  snow  a  young  girl  was  moving, 
followed  by  a  white  wolf-hound.  Once  she  paused,  hesi 
tated,  looked  cautiously  around  her.  Ruthven,  hiding 
behind  a  bush,  saw  her  thrust  her  arm  into  a  low  ever 
green  shrub  and  draw  out  a  shining  object  that  glit 
tered  like  glass.  Then  she  started  toward  the  house 
again. 

At  first  Ruthven  thought  she  was  his  wife,  then  he 
was  not  sure,  and  he  cast  his  cigar  away  and  followed, 
slinking  forward  among  the  evergreens.  But  the  youth 
ful  fur-clad  figure  kept  straight  on  to  the  veranda  of 
the  house,  and  Ruthven,  curious  and  determined  to  find 
out  whether  it  was  Alixe  or  not,  left  the  semi-shelter 
of  the  evergreens  and  crossed  the  open  space  just  as 
the  woman's  figure  disappeared  around  an  angle  of  the 
veranda. 

499 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Vexed,  determined  not  to  return  without  some  definite 
discovery,  Ruthven  stepped  upon  the  veranda.  Just 
around  the  angle  of  the  porch  he  heard  a  door  opening, 
and  he  hurried  forward  impatient  and  absolutely  un 
afraid,  anxious  to  get  one  good  look  at  his  wife  and 
be  off. 

But  when  he  turned  the  angle  of  the  porch  there 
was  no  one  there;  only  an  open  door  confronted  him, 
with  a  big,  mild-eyed  wolf-hound  standing  in  the  door 
way,  looking  steadily  up  at  him. 

Ruthven  glanced  somewhat  dubiously  at  the  dog, 
then,  as  the  animal  made  no  offensive  movement,  he 
craned  his  fleshy  neck,  striving  to  see  inside  the  house. 

He  did  see — nothing  very  much — only  the  same 
young  girl,  still  in  her  furs,  emerging  from  an  inner 
room,  her  arms  full  of  dolls. 

In  his  eagerness  to  see  more,  Ruthven  pushed  past 
the  great  white  dog,  who  withdrew  his  head  disdainfully 
from  the  unceremonious  contact,  but  quietly  followed 
Ruthven  into  the  house,  standing  beside  him,  watching 
him  out  of  great  limpid,  deerlike  eyes. 

But  Ruthven  no  longer  heeded  the  dog.  His  amused 
and  slightly  sneering  gaze  was  fastened  on  the  girl  in 
furs  who  had  entered  what  appeared  to  be  a  living 
room  to  the  right,  and  now,  down  on  her  knees  beside 
a  couch,  smiling  and  talking  confidentially  and  quite 
happily  to  herself,  was  placing  her  dolls  in  a  row  against 
the  wall. 

The  dolls  were  of  various  sorts,  some  plainly  enough 
home-made,  some  very  waxy  and  gay  in  sash  and  lace, 
some  with  polished  smiling  features  of  porcelain.  One 
doll,  however,  was  different — a  bit  of  ragged  red  flannel 
and  something  protruding  to  represent  the  head,  some 
thing  that  glittered.  And  the  girl  in  the  fur  jacket 

500 


[ 


"With  the  acrid  smell  of  smoke  choking  her." 


HER    WAY 


had  this  curious  doll  in  her  hands  when  Ruthven,  to 
make  sure  of  her  identity,  took  a  quick  impulsive  step 
forward. 

Then  the  great  white  dog  growled,  very  low,  and 
the  girl  in  the  fur  jacket  looked  around  and  up 
quickly. 

Alixe!  He  realised  it  as  she  caught  his  pale  eyes 
fixed  on  her;  and  she  stared,  sprang  to  her  feet  still 
staring.  Then  into  her  eyes  leaped  terror,  the  living 
horror  of  recognition  distorting  her  face.  And,  as  she 
saw  he  meant  to  speak  she  recoiled,  shrinking  away, 
turning  in  her  fright  like  a  hunted  thing.  The  strange 
doll  in  her  hand  glittered;  it  was  a  revolver  wrapped 
in  a  red  rag. 

"  W- what's  the  matter  ?  "  he  stammered,  stepping 
forward,  fearful  of  the  weapon  she  clutched. 

But  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  screamed,  crept 
back  closer  against  the  wall,  screamed  again,  pushing 
the  shining  muzzle  of  the  weapon  deep  into  her  fur 
jacket  above  her  breast. 

"F-for  God's  sake!"  he  gasped,  "don't  fire  I— 
don't " 

She  closed  both  eyes  and  pulled  the  trigger;  some 
thing  knocked  her  flat  against  the  wall,  but  she  heard 
no  sound  of  a  report,  and  she  pulled  the  trigger  again 
and  felt  another  blow. 

The  second  blow  must  have  knocked  her  down,  for 
she  found  herself  rising  to  her  knees,  reaching  for  the 
table  to  aid  her.  But  her  hand  was  all  red  and  slip 
pery  ;  she  looked  at  it  stupidly,  fell  forward,  rose  again, 
with  the  acrid  smell  of  smoke  choking  her,  and  her 
pretty  fur  jacket  all  soaked  with  the  warm  wet  stuff 
which  now  stained  both  hands. 

Then  she  got  to  her  knees  once  more,  groped  in  the 
501 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


Later  he  wrote  a  great  many  letters  to  Eileen  Er- 
roll — not  one  of  which  he  ever  sent.  But  the  formality 
of  his  silence  was  no  mystery  to  her ;  and  her  response 
was  silence  as  profound  as  the  stillness  in  her  soul.  But 
deep  into  her  young  heart  something  new  had  been  born, 
faint  fire,  latent,  unstirred ;  and  her  delicate  lips  rested 
one  on  the  other  in  the  sensitive  curve  of  suspense ;  and 
her  white  fingers,  often  now  interlinked,  seemed  tremu 
lously  instinct  with  the  exquisite  tension  hushing  body 
and  soul  in  breathless  accord  as  they  waited  in  unison. 

Toward  the  end  of  March  the  special  service  battle 
ship  squadron  of  the  North  Atlantic  fleet  commenced 
testing  Chaosite  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Southern  rendez 
vous.  Both  main  and  secondary  batteries  were  em 
ployed.  Selwyn  had  been  aboard  the  flag-ship  for 
nearly  a  month. 

In  April  the  armoured  ships  left  the  Southern  drill 
ground  and  began  to  move  northward.  A  destroyer 
took  Selwyn  across  to  the  great  fortress  inside  the  Vir 
ginia  Capes  and  left  him  there.  During  his  stay  there 
was  almost  constant  firing;  later  he  continued  north 
ward  as  far  as  Washington ;  but  it  was  not  until  June 
that  he  telegraphed  Austin : 

"  Government  satisfied.  Appropriation  certain  next 
session.  Am  on  my  way  to  New  York." 

Austin,  in  his  house,  which  was  now  dismantled  for 
the  summer,  telephoned  Nina  at  Silverside  that  he  had 
been  detained  and  might  not  be  able  to  grace  the  fes 
tivities  which  were  to  consist  of  a  neighbourhood  dinner 
to  the  younger  set  in  honour  of  Mrs.  Gerald.  But  he 
said  nothing  about  Selwyn,  and  Nina  did  not  suspect 

504 


ARS   AMORIS 


that  her  brother's  arrival  in  New  York  had  anything 
to  do  with  Austin's  detention. 

There  was  in  Austin  a  curious  substreak  of  senti 
ment  which  seldom  came  to  the  surface  except  where 
his  immediate  family  was  involved.  In  his  dealings  with 
others  he  avoided  it ;  even  with  Gerald  and  Eileen  there 
had  been  little  of  this  sentiment  apparent.  But  where 
Selwyn  was  concerned,  from  the  very  first  days  of  their 
friendship,  he  had  always  felt  in  his  heart  very  close 
to  the  man  whose  sister  he  had  married,  and  was  always 
almost  automatically  on  his  guard  to  avoid  any  expres 
sion  of  that  affection.  Once  he  had  done  so,  or  at 
tempted  to,  when  Selwyn  first  arrived  from  the  Philip 
pines,  and  it  made  them  both  uncomfortable  to  the  verge 
of  profanity,  but  remained  as  a  shy  source  of  solace 
to  them  both. 

And  now  as  Selwyn  came  leisurely  up  the  front  steps, 
Austin,  awaiting  him  feverishly,  hastened  to  smooth  the 
florid  jocose  mask  over  his  features,  and  walked  into  the 
room,  big  hand  extended,  large  bantering  voice  undis 
turbed  by  th^  tremor  of  a  welcome  which  filled  his  heart 
and  came  near  filling  his  eyes : 

"  So  you've  stuck  the  poor  old  Government  at  last, 
have  you?  Took  'em  all  in — forts,  fleet,  and  the  marine 
cavalry  ?  " 

"  Sure  thing,"  said  Selwyn,  laughing  in  the  crush 
ing  grasp  of  the  big  fist.  "How  are  you,  Austin? 
Everybody's  in  the  country,  I  suppose,"  glancing 
around  at  the  linen-shrouded  furniture.  "  How  is 
Nina?  And  the  kids?  .  .  .  Good  business!  .  .  .  And 
Eileen?" 

"  She's  all  right,"  said  Austin;  "  gad!  she's  really  a 
superb  specimen  this  summer.  .  .  .  You  know  she  rather 
eased  off  last  winter — got  white  around  the  gills  and 

505 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


blue  under  the  eyes.  .  .  .  Some  heart  trouble — we  all 
thought  it  was  you.  Young  girls  have  such  notions 
sometimes,  and  I  told  Nina,  but  she  sat  on  me.  .  .  . 
Where's  your  luggage?  Oh,  is  it  all  here? — enough,  I 
mean,  for  us  to  catch  a  train  for  Silverside  this  after 
noon." 

"  Has  Nina  any  room  for  me?  "  asked  Selwyn. 

"  Room !  Certainly.  I  didn't  tell  her  you  were 
coming,  because  if  you  hadn't,  the  kids  would  have  been 
horribly  disappointed.  She  and  Eileen  are  giving  a 
shindy  for  Gladys — that's  Gerald's  new  acquisition,  you 
know.  So  if  you  don't  mind  butting  into  a  baby-show 
we'll  run  down.  It's  only  the  younger  bunch  from 
Hitherwood  House  and  Brookminster.  What  do  you 
say,  Phil?" 

Selwyn  said  that  he  would  go — hesitating  before 
consenting.  A  curious  feeling  of  age  and  grayness 
had  suddenly  come  over  him — a  hint  of  fatigue,  of  con 
sciousness  that  much  of  life  lay  behind  him. 

Yet  in  his  face  and  in  his  bearing  he  could  not  have 
shown  much  of  it,  though  at  his  deeply  sun-burned  tem 
ples  the  thick,  close-cut  hair  was  silvery ;  for  Austin 
said  with  amused  and  at  the  same  time  fretful  emphasis : 
*'  How  the  devil  you  keep  the  youth  in  your  face  and 
figure  I  don't  understand!  I'm  only  forty-five — that's 
scarcely  eight  years  older  than  you  are!  And  look  at 
my  waistcoat !  And  look  at  my  hair — I  mean  where  the 
confounded  ebb  has  left  the  tide-mark!  Gad,  I'd 
scarcely  blame  Eileen  for  thinking  you  qualified  for  a 
cradle-snatcher.  .  .  .  And,  by  the  way,  that  Gladys 
girl  is  more  of  a  woman  than  you'd  believe.  I  observe 
that  Gerald  wears  that  peculiarly  speak-easy-please  ex 
pression  which  is  a  healthy  sign  that  he's  being  man 
aged  right  from  the  beginning." 

506 


ARS   AMORIS 


"  I  had  an  idea  she  was  all  right,"  said  Selwyn, 
smiling. 

"  Well,  she  is.  People  will  probably  say  that  she 
*  made '  Gerald.  However,"  added  Austin  modestly, 
"  I  shall  never  deny  it — though  you  know  what  part 
I've  had  in  the  making  and  breaking  of  him,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Selwyn,  without  a  smile. 

Austin  went  to  the  telephone  and  called  up  his  house 
at  Silverside,  saying  that  he'd  be  down  that  evening 
with  a  guest. 

Nina  got  the  message  just  as  she  had  arranged  her 
tables ;  but  woman  is  born  to  sorrow  and  heiress  to  all 
the  unlooked-for  idiocies  of  man. 

"  Dear,"  she  said  to  Eileen,  the  tears  of  uxorial 
vexation  drying  unshed  in  her  pretty  eyes,  "  Austin  has 
thought  fit  to  seize  upon  this  moment  to  bring  a  man 
down  to  dinner.  So  if  you  are  dressed  would  you  kindly 
see  that  the  tables  are  rearranged,  and  then  telephone 
somebody  to  fill  in — two  girls,  you  know.  The  oldest 
Craig  girl  might  do  for  one.  Beg  her  mother  to  let 
her  come." 

Eileen  was  being  laced,  but  she  walked  to  the  door  of 
Nina's  room,  followed  by  her  little  Alsatian  maid,  who 
deftly  continued  her  offices  en  route. 

"  Whom  is  Austin  bringing  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  didn't  say.  Can't  you  think  of  a  second  girl 
to  get?  Isn't  it  vexing!  Of  course  there's  nobody  left 
— nobody  ever  fills  in  in  the  country.  .  .  .  Do  you  know, 
I'll  be  driven  into  letting  Drina  sit  up  with  us! — for 
sheer  lack  of  material.  I  suppose  the  little  imp  will 
have  a  fit  if  I  suggest  it,  and  probably  perish  of  indi 
gestion  to-morrow." 

Eileen  laughed.  "  Oh,  Nina,  do  let  Drina  come  this 
507 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


once!  It  can't  hurt  her — she'll  look  so  quaint.  The 
child's  nearly  fifteen,  you  know;  do  let  me  put  up  her 
hair.  Boots  will  take  her  in." 

"  Well,  you  and  Austin  can  administer  the  calomel 
to-morrow,  then.  .  .  .  And  do  ring  up  Daisy  Craig; 
tell  her  mother  I'm  desperate,  and  that  she  and  Drina 
can  occupy  the  same  hospital  to-morrow." 

And  so  it  happened  that  among  the  jolly  youthful 
throng  which  clustered  around  the  little  candle-lighted 
tables  in  the  dining-room  at  Silverside,  Drina,  in  ec 
stasy,  curly  hair  just  above  the  nape  of  her  slim  white 
neck,  and  cheeks  like  pink  fire,  sat  between  Boots  and  a 
vacant  chair  reserved  for  her  tardy  father. 

For  Nina  had  waited  as  long  as  she  dared;  then 
Boots  had  been  summoned  to  take  in  Drina  and  the 
youthful  Craig  girl;  and,  as  there  were  to  have  been 
six  at  a  table,  at  that  particular  table  sat  Boots  deco 
rously  facing  Eileen,  with  the  two  children  on  either 
hand  and  two  empty  chairs  flanking  Eileen. 

A  jolly  informality  made  up  for  Austin's  shortcom 
ing;  Gerald  and  his  pretty  bride  were  the  centres  of 
delighted  curiosity  from  the  Minster  twins  and  the 
Innis  girls  and  Evelyn  Cardwell — all  her  intimates. 
And  the  younger  Draymores,  the  Grays,  Lawns,  and 
Craigs  were  there  in  force — gay,  noisy,  unembarrassed 
young  people  who  seemed  scarcely  younger  or  gayer 
than  the  young  matron,  their  hostess. 

As  for  Gladys,  it  was  difficult  to  think  of  her  as 
married ;  and  to  Boots  Drina  whispered  blissfully :  "  I 
look  almost  as  old;  I  know  I  do.  After  this  I  shall 
certainly  make  no  end  of  a  fuss  if  they  don't  let  me 
dine  with  them.  Besides,  you  want  me  to,  don't  you, 
Boots?" 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

508 


'ARS  AMOEIS 


"  And — am  I  quite  as  entertaining  to  you  as  older 
girls,  Boots,  dear?" 

"  Far  more  entertaining,"  said  that  young  man 
promptly.  "  In  fact,  I've  about  decided  to  cut  out 
all  the  dinners  where  you're  not  invited.  It's  only  three 
more  years,  anyway,  before  you're  asked  about,  and  if 
I  omit  three  years  of  indigestible  dinners  I'll  be  in  better 
shape  to  endure  the  deluge  after  you  appear  and  make 
your  bow." 

"  When  I  make  my  bow,"  murmured  the  child ;  "  oh, 
Boots,  I  am  in  such  a  hurry  to  make  it !  It  doesn't  seem 
as  if  I  could  wait  three  more  long,  awful,  disgusting 
years!  .  .  .  How  does  my  hair  look?  " 

"  Adorable,"  he  said,  smiling  across  at  Eileen,  who 
had  heard  the  question. 

"  Do  you  think  my  arms  are  very  thin  ?  Do  you  ?  " 
insisted  Drina. 

"  Dreams  of  Grecian  perfection,"  explained  Boots. 
And,  lowering  his  voice,  "  You  ought  not  to  eat  every 
thing  they  bring  you;  there'll  be  doings  to-morrow  if 
you  do.  Eileen  is  shaking  her  head." 

"  I  don't  care ;  people  don't  die  of  overeating.  And 
I'll  take  their  nasty  old  medicine — truly  I  will,  Boots, 
if  you'll  come  and  give  it  to  me." 

The  younger  Craig  maiden  also  appeared  to  be  bent 
upon  self-destruction;  and  Boots's  eyes  opened  wider 
and  wider  in  sheer  amazement  at  the  capacity  of  woman 
in  embryo  for  rations  sufficient  to  maintain  a  small 
garrison. 

"  There'll  be  a  couple  of  reports,"  he  said  to  himself 
with  a  shudder,  "  like  Selwyn's  Chaosite.  And  then 
there'll  be  no  more  Drina  and  Daisy —  Helio !  " — he 
broke  off,  astonished — "  Well,  upon  my  word  of  words  ! 
Phil  Selwyn  !— or  I'm  a  broker !  " 

509 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


"  Phil !  "  exclaimed  Nina.  "  Oh,  Austin ! — and  you 
never  told  us " 

Austin,  ruddy  and  bland,  came  up  to  make  his  ex 
cuses  ;  a  little  whirlwind  of  excitement  passed  like  a  brisk 
breeze  over  the  clustered  tables  as  Selwyn  followed ;  and 
a  dozen  impulsive  bare  arms  were  outstretched  to  greet 
him  as  he  passed,  returning  the  bright,  eager  salutations 
on  every  hand. 

"  Train  was  late  as  usual,"  observed  Austin. 
"  Philip  and  I  don't  mean  to  butt  into  this  very  grand 
function —  Hello,  Gerald!  Hello,  Gladys!  .  .  . 
Where's  our  obscure  corner  below  the  salt,  Nina?  .  .  . 
Oh,  over  there " 

Selwyn  had  already  caught  sight  of  the  table  des 
tined  for  him.  A  deeper  colour  crept  across  his  bronzed 
face  as  he  stepped  forward,  and  his  firm  hand  closed 
over  the  slim  hand  offered. 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke ;  she  could  not ;  he  dared 
not. 

Then  Drina  caught  his  hands,  and  Eileen's  loosened 
in  his  clasp  and  fell  away  as  the  child  said  distinctly, 
"  I'll  kiss  you  after  dinner ;  it  can't  be  done  here,  can 
it,  Eileen?" 

"  You  little  monkey ! "  exclaimed  her  father,  aston 
ished  ;  "  what  in  the  name  of  cruelty  to  kids  are  you 
doing  here?  " 

"  Mother  let  me,"  observed  the  child,  reaching  for 
a  bonbon.  "  Daisy  is  here ;  you  didn't  speak  to  her." 

"  I'm  past  conversation,'*  said  Austin  grimly,  "  and 
Daisy  appears  to  be  also.  Are  they  to  send  an  ambu 
lance  for  you,  Miss  Craig? — or  will  you  occupy  the 
emergency  ward  upstairs  ?  " 

"  Upstairs,"  said  Miss  Craig  briefly.  It  was  all  she 
coujd  utter.  Besides,  she  was  occupied  with  a  pink 

510 


AES  AMORIS 


c ream-puff.  Austin  and  Boots  watched  her  with  a 
dreadful  fascination;  but  she  seemed  competent  to 
manage  it. 

Selwyn,  beside  Eileen,  had  ventured  on  the  formali 
ties — his  voice  unsteady  and  not  yet  his  own. 

Her  loveliness  had  been  a  memory ;  he  had  supposed 
he  realised  it  to  himself ;  but  the  superb,  fresh  beauty  of 
the  girl  dazed  him.  There  was  a  strange  new  radiancy, 
a  living  brightness  to  her  that  seemed  almost  unreal. 
Exquisitely  unreal  her  voice,  too,  and  the  slightly  bent 
head,  crowned  with  the  splendour  of  her  hair;  and  the 
slowly  raised  eyes,  two  deep  blue  miracles  tinged  with 
the  hues  of  paradise. 

"  There's  no  use,"  sighed  Drina,  "  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  dance.  Boots,  there's  to  be  a  dance,  you  know ; 
so  I'll  sit  on  the  stairs  with  Daisy  Craig;  and  you'll 
come  to  me  occasionally,  won't  you?  " 

Miss  Craig  yawned  frightfully  and  made  a  purely 
mechanical  move  toward  an  iced  strawberry.  Before 
she  got  it  Nina  gave  the  rising  signal. 

"  Are  you  remaining  to  smoke  ?  "  asked  Eileen  as 
Selwyn  took  her  to  the  doorway.  "  Because,  if  you  are 
not — I'll  wait  for  you." 

"Where?  "he  asked. 

"Anywhere.  .  .  .  Where  shaU  I?  " 

Again  the  twin  blue  miracles  were  lifted  to  his ;  and 
deep  in  them  he  saw  her  young  soul,  waiting. 

Around  them  was  the  gay  confusion,  adieux,  and 
laughter  of  partners  parted  for  the  moment;  Nina 
passed  them  with  a  smiling  nod ;  Boots  conducted  Drina 
to  a  resting-place  on  the  stairs ;  outside,  the  hall  was 
thronged  with  the  younger  set,  and  already  their  part 
ners  were  returning  to  the  tables. 

"  Find  me  when  you  can  get  away,"  said  Eileen, 
511 


THE  YOUNGER   SET 


looking  once  more  at  Selwyn ;  "  Nina  is  signalling  me 
now." 

Again,  as  of  old,  her  outstretched  hand — the  little 
formality  symbolising  to  him  the  importance  of  all  that 
concerned  them.  He  touched  it. 

"  A  bientot,"  she  said. 

"  On  the  lawn  out  there — farther  out,  in  the  star 
light,"  he  whispered — his  voice  broke — "  my  dar- 
ling " 

She  bent  her  head,  passing  slowly  before  him, 
turned,  looked  back,  her  answer  in  her  eyes,  her  lips, 
in  every  limb,  every  line  and  contour  of  her,  as  she  stood 
a  moment,  looking  back. 

Austin  and  Boots  were  talking  volubly  when  he  re 
turned  to  the  tables  now  veiled  in  a  fine  haze  of  aro 
matic  smoke.  Gerald  stuck  close  to  him,  happy,  excited, 
shy  by  turns.  Others  came  up  on  every  side — young, 
frank,  confident  fellows,  nice  in  bearing,  of  good  speech 
and  manner. 

And  outside  waited  their  pretty  partners  of  the 
younger  set,  gossiping  in  hall,  on  stairs  and  veranda 
in  garrulous  bevies,  all  filmy  silks  and  laces  and  bright- 
eyed  expectancy. 

The  long  windows  were  open  to  the  veranda ;  Selwyn, 
with  his  arm  through  Gerald's,  walked  to  the  railing 
and  looked  out  across  the  fragrant  starlit  waste.  And 
very  far  away  they  heard  the  sea  intoning  the  hymn 
of  the  four  winds. 

Then  the  elder  man  withdrew  his  arm  and  stood 
apart  for  a  while.  A  little  later  he  descended  to  the 
lawn,  crossed  it,  and  walked  straight  out  into  the  waste. 

The  song  of  the  sea  was  rising  now.  In  the  strange 
little  forest  below,  deep  among  the  trees,  elfin  lights 
broke  out  across  the  unseen  Brier  water,  then  vanished. 

512 


AES   AMORIS 


He  halted  to  listen ;  he  looked  long  and  steadily  into 
the  darkness  around  him.  Suddenly  he  saw  her — a  pale 
blur  in  the  dusk. 

"Eileen?" 

"Is  it  you,  Philip?" 

She  stood  waiting  as  he  came  up  through  the  purple 
gloom  of  the  moorland,  the  stars'  brilliancy  silvering  her 
— waiting — yielding  in  pallid  silence  to  his  arms, 
crushed  in  them,  looking  into  his  eyes,  dumb,  wordless. 

Then  slowly  the  pale  sacrament  changed  as  the  wild- 
rose  tint  crept  into  her  face ;  her  arms  clung  to  his 
shoulders,  higher,  tightened  around  his  neck.  And  from 
her  lips  she  gave  into  his  keeping  soul  and  body,  guiltless 
as  God  gave  it,  to  have  and  to  hold  beyond  such  inci 
dents  as  death  and  the  eternity  that  no  man  clings  to 
save  in  the  arms  of  such  as  she. 


(i) 


THE    END 


513 


THE  LEADING  NOVEL  OF  TODAY. 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS.  Illustrated  by  A.  B. 
Wenzell.  I2mo.  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1.50. 

In  "The  Fighting  Chance"  Mr.  Chambers  has  taken 
for  his  hero,  a  young  fellow  who  has  inherited  with  his 
wealth  a  craving  for  liquor.  The  heroine  has  inherited  a 
certain  rebelliousness  and  dangerous  caprice.  The  two, 
meeting  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  fight  out  their  battles,  two 
weaknesses  joined  with  love  to  make  a  strength.  It  is  re 
freshing  to  find  a  story  about  the  rich  in  which  all  the 
women  are  not  sawdust  at  heart,  nor  all  the  men  satyrs. 
The  rich  have  their  longings,  their  ideals,  their  regrets, 
as  well  as  the  poor ;  they  have  their  struggles  and  inherited 
evils  to  combat.  It  is  a  big  subject,  painted  with  a  big 
brush  and  a  big  heart. 

"  After  '  The  House  of  Mirth '  a  New  York  society  novel 
has  to  be  very  good  not  to  suffer  fearfully  by  comparison. 
'  The  Fighting  Chance '  is  very  good  and  it  does  not 
suffer." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"There  is  no  more  adorable  person  in  recent  fiction 
than  Sylvia  Landis." — New  York  Evening  Sun* 

"  Drawn  with  a  master  hand." — Toledo  Blade. 

"An  absorbing  tale  which  claims  the  reader's  interest 
to  the  end." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  has  written  many  brilliant  stories,  but 
this  is  his  masterpiece." — Pittsburg  Chronicle  Telegraph. 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


A  GREAT  ROMANTIC  NOVEL. 


The  Reckoning. 

By    ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS.       Illustrated    by 
Henry  Hutt.     $1.50. 

"A  thrilling  and  engrossing  tale." — New  York  Sun. 

"  When  we  say  that  the  new  work  is  as  good  as  '  Cardigan '  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  say  more." — The  Dial. 

"  Robert  Chambers'  books  recommend  themselves.  '  The 
Reckoning'  is  one  of  his  best  and  will  delight  lovers  of  good 
novels." — Boston.  Herald. 

"  It  is  an  exceedingly  fine  specimen  of  its  class,  worthy  of  its 
predecessors  and  a  joy  to  all  who  like  plenty  of  swing  and  spirit." 

— London  Bookman 

"  Robert  W.  Chambers'  stories  of  the  revolutionary  period  in 
particular  show  a  care  in  historic  detail  that  put  them  in  a  different 
class  from  the  rank  and  file  of  colonial  novels." — Book  News. 

"  A  stirring  tale  well  told  and  absorbing.  It  is  not  a  book  to 
forget  easily  and  it  will  for  many  throw  new  light  on  a  phase  of 
revolutionary  history  replete  with  interest  and  appeal." 

• — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Chambers'  bullets  whistle  almost  audibly  in  the  pages ;  when 
a  twig  snaps,  as  twigs  do  perforce  in  these  chronicles,  you  can 
almost  feel  the  presence  of  the  savage  buck  who  snaps  it.  Then 
there  are  situations  of  force  and  effect  everywhere  through  the 
pages,  an  intensity  of  action,  a  certain  naturalness  of  dialogue  and 
'  human  nature  '  in  the  incidents.  But  over  all  is  the  glamor  of  the 
Chambers  fancy,  the  gauzy  woof  of  an  artist's  imagination  which 
glories  in  tints,  in  poesies,  in  the  little  whims  of  the  brush  and 
pencil,  so  that  you  have  just  a  pleasant  reminder  of  unreality  and 
a  glimpse  of  the  author  himself  here  and  there  to  vary  the  interest." 

— £/.  Louis  Republic. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


WORKS  OF  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 

IOLE. 

Color  inlay  on  the  cover  and  many  full-page  illus 
trations,  borders,  thumbnail  sketches,  etc.,  by  J.  C. 
Leyendecker,  Arthur  Becher,  and  Karl  Anderson. 
$1.25. 

The  story  of  eight  pretty  girls  and  their  fat  poetical 
father,  an  apostle  of  art  "  dead  stuck  on  Nature  and  sim 
plicity." 

"  '  lole '  is  unquestionably  a  classic." — San  Francisco  Bulletin, 

"  Mr.  Chambers  is  a  benefactor  to  the  human  race." 

—Seattle  Post-Intelligenfer. 

"  Quite  the  most  amusing  and  delectable  bit  of  nonsense  that  has 
come  to  light  for  a  long  time." — Life. 

"  One  of  the  most  alluring  books  of  the  season." 

— Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"  The  joyous  abounding  charm  of  '  lole  '  is  indescribable.  It  is  for 
you  to  read.  '  lole '  is  guaranteed  to  drive  away  the  blues." 

— New  York  Press. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  has  never  shown  himself  more  brilliant  and  more 
imaginative  than  in  this  little  satirical  idyllic  comedy." 

— Kansas  City  Star. 

"  A  fresh  proof  of  Mr.  Chambers'  amazing  versatility." 

— Everybody 's  Magazine. 

"  As  delicious  a  satire  as  one  could  want  to  read." 

— Pittsburg  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  an  achievement  to  write  a  genuinely  funny  book  and  another 
to  write  a  truly  instructive  book  ;  but  it  is  the  greatest  of  achievements 
to  write  a  book  that  is  both.  This  Mr.  Chambers  has  done  in  '  lole.'  " 

—  Washington  Star. 

"  Amid  the  outpour  of  the  insipid  '  lole '  comes  as  June  sunshine. 
The  author  of  '  Cardigan '  shows  a  fine  touch  and  rarer  pigments  as  the 
number  of  his  canvases  grows.  '  lole '  is  a  literary  achievement  which 
must  always  stand  in  the  foremost  of  its  class." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


By  DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS. 
The  Second  Generation. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  Second  Generation"  is  a  double-decked  romance 
in  one  volume,  telling  the  two  love-stories  of  a  young 
American  and  his  sister,  reared  in  luxury  and  suddenly  left 
without  means  by  their  father,  who  felt  that  money  was 
proving  their  ruination  and  disinherited  them  for  their  own 
sakes.  Their  struggle  for  life,  love  and  happiness  makes  a 
powerful  love-story  of  the  middle  West. 

*  The  book  equals  the  best  of  the  great  story  tellers  of  all 
time." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

"'The  Second  Generation,'  by  David  Graham  Phillips,  is  not 
only  the  most  important  novel  of  the  new  year,  but  it  is  one  of  the 
most  important  ones  of  a  number  of  years  past." 

— Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"A  thoroughly  American  book  is  'The  Second  Generation/ 
.  .  .  The  characters  are  drawn  with  force  and  discrimination." 

— St.  Louis  Globe  Democrat. 

"Mr.  Phillips'  book  is  thoughtful,  well  conceived,  admirably 
written  and  intensely  interesting.  The  story  'works  out'  well, 
and  though  it  is  made  to  sustain  the  theory  of  the  writer  it  does 
so  in  a  very  natural  and  stimulating  manner.  In  the  writing  of  the 
'  problem  novel '  Mr.  Phillips  has  won  a  foremost  place  among  our 
younger  American  authors." — Boston  Herald. 

" '  The  Second  Generation  '  promises  to  become  one  of  the  nota 
ble  novels  of  the  year.  It  will  be  read  and  discussed  while  a  less 
vigorous  novel  will  be  forgotten  within  a  week." 

— Springfield  Union. 

"  David  Graham  Phillips  has  a  way,  a  most  clever  and  convinc 
ing  way,  of  cutting  through  the  veneer  of  snobbishness  and  bringing 
real  men  and  women  to  the  surface.  He  strikes  at  shams,  yet  has 
a  wholesome  belief  in  the  people  behind  them,  and  he  forces  them 
to  justify  his  good  opinions." — Kansas  City  Times. 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,     NEW    YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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